A Song of Three Dragons
by maonsie
Summary: AU. Rising his banners in revolt, Lord Jon Arryn pushes Robert's claim on the throne, and fails when the North sides with Rhaegar Targaryen against his father. Now, with his hold on the throne slipping, the realm sits upon the edge of a blade. Houses and beasts long thought dead still live. And an evil has awoken north of the Wall. This is a song of three dragons.
1. Prologue

**A Song of Three Dragons**

_**Part I: A Cat of a Different Coat**_

Night had come and an unsettling darkness of clouds had rolled over the cove. High waves crashed against the rocky shoreline in a rhythmic way. Only one stood vigil on the outcropping, its armour as black as the volcanic rock he was standing on. And in its vigil, it made no sound, simply watching over the cove. To the passing eye, the armoured soldier looked nothing more than a jutting of stone. But it had a purpose - to stand guard of its master.

Inside the cavern, three cloaked figures stood waiting. Their cowls shrouded their visages in darkness. Not even the torchlight cast a glow upon them. They simply sucked away the light.

Cast away in the corner, a skeleton still rotted away in its muddied, yellow surcoat. The black stag of House Baratheon still clang to the bones even in death.

A robed woman walked out from the darkness before the three. Under her hood, a veil covered her eyes from the darkness. But pale was the face underneath, and as she began speaking, her lips appeared as though cracking from the motion. "_Each of you will deliver a chest to those who have the Blood. Let no-one question you. Kill any who impede my command_," in a voice as raspy as the sand, she said.

Silence answered her. And silence was all she needed. A smile came to those lips, frail as they were.

Behind her, another, garbed in the same black armour as the guardian outside, carried a chest in its arms. The chest was opulent in its nature, the black and purple details ornate. With her robe flowing behind her, she stood back as the brutish armoured being opened the chest. Three smaller chests sat inside, their wood dark and old.

One-by-one, the shrouded figures each picked up a chest before departing the cave. Sheathed at their sides were blades as old as time itself. Silently they mounted their steeds and began riding west. What they had in their possession had the capacity to change the balance of power in the world, and alter the very course of mankind.

* * *

**A/N**: I do hope that this story piques your interest and you read on. It's my first real attempt at fan-fiction. And I'd love feedback of any kind all throughout! :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	2. Timeline

**TIMELINE **

**[Subject to Alterations and Additions]**

* * *

**260AC**

**Events**

**The Western Civil War**

Tywin of House Lannister eradicates House Tarbeck of Tarbeck Hall and House Reyne of Castamere following _The Red Lion_'s call to war against Tytos Lannister. All members of the two houses, as well as supporters in their keeps are believed to be dead.

* * *

**275AC**

**Births**

Viserys Targaryen, son of Aerys II Targaryen and Rhaella Targaryen.

Willas Tyrell, son of Mace Tyrell and Alerie Hightower.

* * *

**276AC**

**Events**

Rhaegar Targaryen is knighted by Ser Gerold Hightower.

Tywin holds a tourney in Lannisport for Aerys II. After asking for a betrothal between his daughter Cersei and Rhaegar and being denied by King Aerys II, he decides she will rule Casterly Rock when he has passed on as Lady of the Rock.

* * *

**277AC**

**Births**

Renly Baratheon, son of Steffon Baratheon and Cassana Estermont.

Garlan Tyrell, son of Mace Tyrell and Alerie Hightower.

* * *

**282AC**

**Deaths**

Steffon Baratheon, drowned in Shipbreaker Bay.

* * *

**281AC**

**Events**

Rhaegar Targaryen loses the tourney at Harrenhal to Ser Arthur Dayne. Arthur Dayne names Rhaegar's wife, Elia, Queen of Love and Beauty.

Jaime Lannister joins the Kingsguard of Aerys II following his knighting by Ser Arthur Dayne.

* * *

**282AC **

**Events**

**The War of the Crown Succession:**

Rhaegar Targaryen leaves his wife, Elia Martell in King's Landing to find Lyanna Stark, and takes her into his company. Jon Connington, his life-long friend, joins him as they ride North.

Lord-Paramount of the Vale, Jon Arryn, alongside his ward, Robert Baratheon, view this as an act of madness. Eddard, his friend and fellow ward, pleads patience with Robert to no avail.

Brandon Stark, along with Elbert Arryn, ride to King's Landing, assuming Prince Rhaegar to be there. Discovering he is not, they attempt to leave; however, out of fear and hatred of the Northern lords, King Aerys II arrests the two men and their accompanying squires. He demands that Rickard Stark, Brandon's father and Lord-Paramount of the North along with Jon Arryn come to King's Landing to answer for the crimes of their son.

As Lord Rickard was planning to leave, Rhaegar Targaryen arrives in Winterfell under the cover of darkness and asks for Lyanna Stark's hand in marriage before the court. Out of love of his daughter, and in his thinking that the realm would be stabilised, he accepts the proposal, and rides south with the news.

However, Aerys II sees it as a slight against his family and casts Rhaegar from the line of succession, arresting and murdering Rickard Stark with his son Brandon, as well as murdering Elbert Arryn. Jon, sensing that the time was right, lifts his banners in rebellion. Robert, now Lord-Paramount of the Storm Lands, does the same, demanding that Rhaegar turn Lyanna over to him. The Vale and the Stormlands both raise their banners in open war.

Eddard, now Lord-Paramount of the North, rides north to Winterfell with the demands, yet after finding that Rhaegar's love was true, and that his sister was happy with the man, refuses Robert's demands. He announces he is in support of Rhaegar's claim on the Iron Throne. With the Houses Stark and Tully united through Eddard's marriage to Catelyn Tully, they both raise their banners under Rhaegar, Tully forsaking the Vale.

In Dorne, Doran views Rhaegar's breaking of marriage to Elia Martell as a great slight against his House, and demands that Prine Llewyn be discharged from the Kingsguard to bring her back. Many in the Crownlands raise their banners in defence of Aerys II. He sends Oberyn to Casterly Rock to wed Cersei and remain neutral in the war.

House Velaryon in the Crownlands refuses and swears its allegiance to Rhaegar. House Tyrell and the Reach follow suit, declaring for Rhaegar. In King's Landing, Aerys II's Hand, Tywin Lannister, resigns his position and rides back to the Westerlands, choosing to remain neutral in the conflict.

* * *

**283AC**

**Births**

Robb Stark, son of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully.

Margaery Tyrell, daughter of Mace Tyrell and Alerie Hightower.

Meera Reed, daughter of Howland Reed and Jyana.

**Deaths**

Robert Baratheon, slain by Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident

Jon Arryn, fatally wounded by Eddard Stark and died near Darry

Aerys II Targaryen, murdered under suspicious circumstances in King's Landing

Elia Martell, murdered by Robert Baratheon in a fit of rage

Aegon Targaryen, murdered by Robert Baratheon in a fit of rage

Rhaenys Targaryen, murdered by Robert Baratheon in a fit of rage

Rossart, Hand of the King, murdered by Baratheon soldiers

Denys Arryn, slain by an unknown knight of the Riverlands on the Trident

Myles Mooton, slain by a Targaryen archer loyal to Aerys II

**Events**

**The War of the Crown Succession:**

Stannis Baratheon still holds Storm's End, though faces siege from the armies of Houses Tyrell and Connington. In the north, the Northern army and the army of the Riverlands face the Vale's army at the Battle of Darry. Eddard Stark duels Jon Arryn, mortally wounding him. It is said the men of the North, the Riverlands and the Vale stopped to watch, awed that these two men who were so close could come to this. Jon dies of inuries sustained on the field. Eddard stops his troops from marching south, allowing time to heal and regain composure. Rhaegar takes a vanguard of Riverland's knights south, defeating a small army loyal to Aerys II under the command of Lord Oromis Blount and Lord Ivan Cressey.

To the south, Robert Baratheon successfully sieges King's Landing, advancing on the Red Keep. Receiving word from Darry that the Vale's army was defeated, he assaults the Red Keep in an effort to end the war, and solidify his claim. Robert enters the Great Hall, finding Aerys II sat in the Iron Throne impaled upon a sword. In a fit of rage at the event, Robert orders his men to kill everyone left alive.

Robert himself breaks past the Targaryen soldiers guarding Elia Martell only to find a knight of the Kingsguard standing guard. A long fight within the royal apartments leads to his death, and Robert out of anger rapes and kills Elia Martell and her children. Knowing that he has lost the war, he takes his remaining force and rides north towards Darry as quickly as he can. There, at the fork of the Trident, he faces the Northern army.

After a prolonged fight, Rhaegar, now flanked by the Kingsguard, leads his heavy cavalry and smashes into the Southern army. Finding Robert Baratheon unhorsed, he faces him in a duel, wielding the Valyrian sword, Dragon's Tooth. Wearing him down, and Robert tired from knowing he was defeated lost hold of his war-hammer and collapsed into the Trident. He demanded that Rhaegar give him a soldier's death, and so it was done. Rhaegar Targaryen defeated Robert Baratheon, and rode south for King's Landing.

Upon arriving at the city in disarray along with Raeys Velaryon, Hoster Tully, Eddard Stark and Jon Connington, Rhaegar rode to the Red Keep to the cries and cheers of the people. He found the miniscule defence left by Robert had long abandoned it, a group of loyal Gold Cloaks having come to protect it, led by a young knight, Ser Stokeworth. He rode into the great keep and found the destroyed remains of Elia Martell and the two children she had had. Rhaegar returned their remains to Dorne in the following months. His brother and sister were nowhere to be found, and presumed dead.

The war being over, Robert's older brother, Stannis, fled Storm's End for Essos along with a group of loyal Baratheon knights. Robert's younger brother, having been a ward and hostage of the Tyrells, was given charge of the keep and city, under the jurisdiction of the Reach until he come of age.

* * *

**284AC**

**Events**

Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark wed in the capital. Eddard Stark and his wife, Catelyn, both attend. Eddard wishes his sister love, and a lengthy goodbye before going north to Winterfell. Raeys Velayron is named Hand of the King. Gerold Hightwoer is re-named Lord-Commander of the Kingsguard. And Ser Manly Stokeworth is named Commander of the Gold Cloaks.

Regency of the Vale is given to Lord Nestor of House Royce due to the death of all living members of House Arryn. Lord Nestor is also named Warden of the East.

* * *

**285AC**

**Births**

Tristaen Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

* * *

**286AC**

**Births**

Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully.

Joanna Lannister, daughter of Oberyn Martell and Cersei Lannister.

* * *

**288AC**

**Deaths**

Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands, executed for crimes against the Iron Throne.

Maron Greyjoy, executed for crimes against the Iron Throne.

Rodrik Greyjoy, died in battle against Lord Jason Mallister at Seagard.

Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins, executed for crimes against the Iron Throne.

A number of Frey sons are executed for crimes against the Iron Throne.

**Events**

**The Western Rebellion**

Lord Balon of the Iron Islands along with House Frey and a handful of lesser lords in the West rose up against the Iron Throne, dividing the Seven Kingdoms in two. Lord Balon believes this to be an advantage and crowns himself king. However, due to a bad storm and the supremacy of Lord Redwyne's fleet, the Greyjoy fleet was knocked out early.

Eddard Stark led the assault on the Crossing at the Green Fork from the north, Edmure Tully from the south. Without assistance, the Freys surrendered to the might of the two houses. Victarion and Euron Greyjoy flee Westeros with a handful of long-ships.

The Iron Islands, following the near destruction of House Greyjoy, pass to House Harlaw. Rodrik Harlaw is named Lord-Regent. The Iron Islands fall under the dominion of the Riverlands, and become subjects to House Tully. Asha Greyjoy goes to Riverrun as a hostage and ward. Theon Greyjoy goes to Winterfell as a hostage and ward.

The Twins, following the removal of House Frey, go to House Mallister as a reward for service during the rebellion.

* * *

**289AC**

**Births**

Gyyred Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

Alys Targaryen, daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

Arya Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully.

Daeryk Maslan, son of Aranthys Maslan and Naeryne Allyrion.

Jojen Reed, son of Howland Reed and Jyana.

* * *

**291AC**

**Births**

Brandon Stark, son of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully.

Nymeria Lannister daughter of Oberyn Martell and Cersei Lannister.

* * *

**293AC**

**Births**

Rhaegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

Cyrus Lannister, son of Oberyn Martell and Cersei Lannister.

* * *

**295AC**

**Births**

Rickon Stark, son of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully.

* * *

**305AC**

**Deaths**

Raeys Valeyron, Hand of the King, died of illness in King's Landing

**Events**

Three couriers leave the free city of Pentos, bound for three destinations – two in Westeros, one in Essos

King Rhaegar Targaryen rides north to Winterfell to ask Eddard to serve on his small council.

Willem, the only surviving male member of House Reyne slays Denys of House Drumm, reclaiming his family's lost Valyrian blade. He proclaims himself as the new _Red Lion of Castamere_.

* * *

**A/N**: _Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	3. Joanna

**Joanna**

With the warm sun bearing down on her, the young woman kept running through the fields outside Casterly Rock, gaining distance on her two guardsmen assigned to her. Her fingers swept along the high-grass of the fields, the soft tickle of it bringing a wide smile to her face. Her eyes, two dark emeralds like her mother's, were closed to the wind. The crimson dress she was wearing had torn along the skirt as she ran. She knew in her mind that her mother wouldn't be happy, but she didn't care - she was a lion, a Lannister like her mother.

After a while, she slowed her gait, allowing her legs time to rest. And she laid in the tall yellow grass, further ruining the dress. No sounds but of the soft wind, a breeze over the grass and a horse neighing a ways off. The horse piqued her interest, but she chose to ignore it. And once again, she closed her eyes.

A soft voice came from behind her. "Joanna. It's a beautiful day for a run - you made it quite far." The girl stood up, brushing her ruined skirt off. A grin came to the older man's face. "Your mother won't be pleased to see your dress torn up."

Joanna sighed, a tiny satisfied smile coming to her lips. "I don't care. Mother can just buy me more clothes." To further prove her point, the girl grabbed the sleeve on the right side and tore it off, the fabric frayed on her shoulder.

"Come now, sweet daughter," her father started, beckoning her to one of the three horses he had roped behind him. The blonde haired girl mounted the horse, and the other man felt pride that her daughter needed no help. Many lords could not even climb onto their horses alone. The both of them turned back towards Casterly Rock and started riding slowly back. Joanna was about to start speaking, though her father started first.

"I know you don't want to go north. Your grandfather made the match two years ago, but you're now ready, and you'll be married soon."

"To a Stark in Winterfell." The words came from the girl bitterly, her lips tight on her face. He was right, she didn't want to go north. "It's cold. And far away from everything."

The man nodded, a smile coming to his face though. "Yes, it is cold in the North. And alone, larger than any of the other kingdoms. But the Northerners treat women with respect. And Eddard Stark is a good man. His son will be even better."

She wasn't convinced, dryly saying, "Except that he'll lock me away in Winterfell."

A hearty laugh came from her father, and Joanna couldn't resist smiling. He started, "Sweet, sweet daughter, you are of both Lannister blood and my blood. Even more, you are Cersei Lannister's daughter. If he locks you away in his keep, he must be a very brave man to do so."

Heavy grunting came from nearby, and the two riders came across the two guardsmen asked to protect her. Joanna's father tossed down the reigns of the two horses to them. "And how will the two of you get women, if you allow my beautiful daughter to escape you on foot."

The senior of the two Lannister soldiers, still panting, said, "She's quick, milord."

The other guard pulled the water-skin off the other horse's saddle, dumping it on his face. "She's more than quick."

That look of pride came to her father's face again as he turned to look at her, "Aye, she's the daughter of a viper, and a lion. Quick of mind, and body."

. . .

Her mother had been angered that the dress was ruined, telling Joanna to bathe and put on clothes befit of her rank. She had already celebrated her nineteenth name-day, and her mother was still demanding things of her like a child. With every passing moment, she found the idea of leaving for the North more and more tolerable.

But still, best idea would be to bathe and follow her instructions. And so she did, disrobing and stepping into the bath. A servant came up to help her, but Joanna waved her off, thinking that she may as well enjoy it. In her mind, her thoughts went to her future husband, Robb Stark.

Her grandfather had made the match nearly two years ago, riding to Winterfell to discuss annual tax incomes for the Seven Kingdoms. A terrible boring affair he told her, most of the discussion ended up being about a marriage alliance between the two Houses. Tywin had great respect for the North, and like her father, had great respect for its lord, Eddard Stark.

Joanna smiled, remembering the first thing she'd asked her grandfather, about what he looked like. Her grandfather had simply said that he looked like his mother, a Tully, with the dark grey eyes of his father. She went to her father to ask for a better description, and he told her of the Tully's auburn hair, and their fair complexions. Joanna had devised a picture of what he looked like in her mind, and found that she didn't so much mind that.

It was that she would be so far to the north that made her sigh in contempt. She had come to love the Westerlands, the sun and the plains and canyons. The people, the cities, the food; all of it was to her liking and now, it was all to go away. A knock came on the door, startling her. "Your lady-mother has asked for you when you finish bathing," the rough voice of Ser Trevor said through the door.

She called for the servant, and went to taking her bath. She did so quickly, stepping out and drying herself off with a cloth. Another dress was laid out in her room, this time crimson, with gold details going throughout. "Lovely. A waste to wear something ornate for no reason other than my mother's amusement," she said, allowing another serving girl to help her with the dress. The joke was wasted on the low-born women.

Ser Trevor was waiting outside the door, his crimson cape trailing behind him. He'd been her personal protector for a few years, and she knew he'd developed feelings for her over that time. She'd given him a leave for the afternoon when she left with the two other guards. Joanna knew that Trevor would've caught her.

"You look lovely, my lady," he said, bowing his head to her.

She smiled at him, taking his arm. "Thank you, Ser Trevor."

They began walking, and as she had predicted, he asked about this afternoon. "You shouldn't have run off without protection. What if a brigand, or an assassin, had been out in the hills?"

"You know there are no sorts of people like that out here. Just farmers, and their farmland." Inside, she found it cute of him to worry, but he was a bit ridiculous at times.

"I know, my lady. But still, promise that the next time you won't send me off." All of a sudden, Joanna stopped. "My lady?"

She looked at Ser Trevor, and felt heavy all of a sudden, suffocating in her dress. "Next time. Will there even be a next time?"

The young knight grabbed her hand, his own green eyes filled with emotion. "Yes there will be. The North is full of wild, waiting for a lion to roam around it. You may have to wear a bit more to cover yourself up, but you'll be riding and running there too."

The two of them arrived in the great hall and now Joanna understood why her mother had left her the dress. Her grandfather, Lord Tywin, had arrived not too long after her. Her younger sister Nymeria was already in a conversation with her about King's Landing. She wanted to go with him so badly. Joanna's eyes scanned the room and found her mother Cersei.

Walking over to her, the older woman stood up and hugged her. "You look beautiful in your dress." Neither had noticed Tywin standing up and moving over towards them.

"My daughter, and my grand-daughter. Could very well be sisters, you look so much alike. Except for that Martell nose," his deep voice said, a certain level of pride in his eyes. Joanna's eyes went to her father, sat at the table playing with Edwyn, her youngest brother. "It's lovely to see you, Joanna."

She turned back to him, curtsying for her mother, "And you, grandfather. Still enjoying the capital?"

"Partly the reason I'm here. Sit, the both of you, we've much to discuss." Tywin moved back to his seat at the head of the table, and the two Lannister ladies followed. Joanna had to wonder what he meant, Tywin seldom seemed so worn out.

"I rode here as fast as I could. Raeys Valeryon has died, illness in his old age getting the better of him. Rhaegar plans to name Eddard Stark Hand of the King. A wise choice, and I'd much prefer his judgement in matters of the realm.

But, that means that he will be travelling north to Winterfell." Tywin's eyes looked directly at Joanna. "I believe it time to bring you to the North." The Lannister girl nodded her head slightly, before her father spoke up.

"Will Cersei and I be making this trip as well? To see our eldest daughter off."

Tywin nodded, "Yes, Cyrus will hold the Rock while we make the trip. Maester Wendell will see to it that he is properly acting. A good chance for the boy to learn."

. . .

Dinner had been rather uneventful after that, her parents discussing business of the Rock with her grandfather. She'd spent most of it thinking about Winterfell. Books couldn't tell her much - all she had learned was that it wasn't as cold as the rest of the North; the city was built on a hot springs. Tywin had said that they'd be leaving in the morning for King's Landing to rendezvous with the King's entourage. That didn't give her much time to pack things up.

A knock at her personal chamber's door made her rub her temples in frustration. "Come in!" She turned around to see who it was, startled and relieved to see it was her father.

"Don't fret, my daughter." Joanna didn't care, she went and hugged the Dornish prince.

"I thought you might be mother."

Oberyn had a long box under his arm and laid it on Joanna's bed. "Your mother would not be bringing you this." He opened it, and Joanna saw steel glimmer in the candlelight. Her father pulled a blade out of the box, long and skinny, yet flat and sharp. There was hardly a hilt, the pommel running into the blade.

"A sword?" the grin widened on Joanna's face. "You've had a sword made for me."

Her father nodded, holding it out for her. "A lion in the North will need some protection." Joanna held the sword, marvelling at how light and fast it was. She flicked it around, Oberyn nodding as she went through the proper motions.

Joanna smiled, "Not a lion. A lioness."

* * *

**A/N**:

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

And a big thanks to IlyriaMaslan for the help with many of the original characters you'll meet in this story!

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	4. Jorah

**Jorah**

North to the Wall. That was his liege-lord's sentence for the crimes he committed. Far more lenient than he ever deserved. He'd been stupid enough to think that selling slaves would see him and his wife happy. And he'd begged before Lord Stark not to take his head - to allow his wife, Lynesse, to travel back to Hightower. Looking around him, he couldn't decide if his decision was one to take envy of.

Thieves, beggars, two murderers and a rapist kept him company. Along with Yoren, sworn-brother of the Night's Watch and Ser Robaire Nimbly of the Reach, a second son and a knight, hoping to make a difference at the Wall. When Yoren had collected him from Winterfell, he'd had a laugh of the situation. The haggard man laughed, gaining the attention of a handful of the men destined for the Wall.

"Ser Jorah?" the young knight started, noticing Jorah sitting off to the side of the company. The boy's voice had hardly matured, his light brown hair even lighter in the flames of the fire. The older knight wasn't even sure if the boy had grown any hair yet. But he was a kind lad, and continued, "Would you care to sit by the fire with us?"

Jorah picked himself up, moving over to the fire, sitting down next to Yoren and the knight. The black brother handed him a water-skin. "It's wine," he started softly, "Don't let 'em onto it." He motioned towards the chained men at the other campfire with his shoulder.

The man from Bear Island downed the skin, wiping off his face with a rag. "How far are we from the Wall?"

"Only a day or so," said Yoren, standing up to go check on the other men. "We'll see your father soon enough."

Ser Robaire's face scrunched a bit, his eyes squinting. "Your father? Does he serve at the Wall."

A hearty laugh came from the older man as he said, "More than serve it, he bloody well runs the Wall, boy." Jorah held his hands out in a sweeping motion. "Bloody Lord-Commander Jeor Mormont."

Yoren came back and sat next to the man again, as the knight asked another question. "You're going to the Wall to serve alongside your father? There's honour in that."

The sworn brother shook his head. "He's not going to the Wall out of honour. He's been sentenced. 'is blood is all that's keeping 'im from being chained up with our friends o'er there."

"What did you do, ser knight?"

Jorah sighed heavily. "Fell in love with a woman. That's what I did. Only sought to make her happy - and I failed in doing so. A poor man, from a poor house."

Resolute, the knight still held his commitment. "Past crimes are absolved. Your past will not haunt you. You are a knight, Ser Jorah. You took the vows, same as I. There is honour is being a sworn brother and protecting the realm."

He couldn't say what it was, but Jorah had never felt so small. This boy, this highborn lord's son, was right. Jorah had been knighted by the Sword of the Morning himself; what would he say should he be here now. "Aye, Ser Robaire. I've taken the vows. I should be doing my damndest to uphold them."

Yoren nodded his head at the boy, and said, "Good lad." He stood up and put his hand on his shoulder. "The two of you should get to sleep. We'll be at the Wall soon enough."

. . .

Ser Robaire's face was awash with awe as Yoren's company came out of the treeline. "Well men, welcome to the Wall." It stood over 700 feet tall, and even Jorah had to stare at its might. A solid rising wall of ice divided the ground from the sky, and stretched from east to west as far as the eye could see. Straight ahead of them in the distance, a castle rose - a black spot among the white, pale shimmer of the Wall.

"And there's are destination, Castle Black. We're only a few hours off." Yoren led the cage wagon forward on his horse. Ser Robaire and Ser Jorah exchanged a look of amazement, and followed suit, riding down the road towards the castle.

. . .

Men scurried about the walls of the keep, wearing black cloaks and bearing long-bows. Jorah looked at Robaire, seeing his eyes try to look at everything at once. He had a bit of envy for that - the boy was smart, and intrigued. Good qualities to have for a knight. The three men dismounted their horses as some other men of the Watch came over and took the lowborn men towards a central area.

"Jorah Mormont," a voice said, one Jorah couldn't quite place yet felt familiar. He turned around and figured out why. The man looked everything like his brother, only blacker hair. "I heard what happened. I can understand why. Don't worry, your father isn't angry."

Jorah shook his head, "I'm not worried about my father, Benjen. I don't know if I can forgive myself for what I did."

"Lynesse will be fine. She's a Hightower, and you saw to it she would be going home," Benjen said before looking back at the younger knight, looking up at the top of the Wall. "Who's your shadow?"

"My shadow?" Jorah asked, before noticing what Benjen was looking at. "Oh, him. That would be my young knightly companion, Ser Robaire Nimbly." The boy's head spun down at mention of his name, his wavy hair falling over his eyes. He ran a hand through it, getting it out of his face and smiling embarrassingly.

"Reminds me of my nephew, Bran, back in Winterfell," Benjen said, motioning for the boy to come over.

"I know of him. Spent a while in Winterfell before being brought here. Robaire actually reminds me of you."

Benjen looked a bit intrigued. "How so?"

Jorah would rather the knight himself said, so he told the senior ranger, "Ask him."

The boy walked over, his shield emblazoned with the symbol of his house, a red rose surrounded by thorns. A long sword sat on his hip, looking larger as a result of his more lanky build. Benjen nodded his head, "You're well equipped, young ser knight. What brings you to the Wall?"

"Honour. And to protect the realm." Robaire's face was hard.

Benjen looked to Jorah, then back at the young knight. "A second son I take it?"

Robaire nodded his head. "Aye, ser. My brother will inherit. I needed to seek my future elsewhere."

"Believe me, I know the feeling. My brother is the lord of Winterfell."

A smile came to the boy's face. "I told you, Ser Jorah! There is honour to serving in the Night's Watch."

Jorah laughed, and said, "Benjen here is senior ranger. Interested in that?"

Excited, the young man nodded, "A ranger! Going beyond the Wall to fight wildlings and white walkers. How could I not be?!" Benjen grinned at that, putting his arm on Robaire's shoulder.

"Always looking for good men. And you've trained as a knight, that's useful. But, I believe you've a different calling here at the Wall." Both Jorah and Robaire looked perplexed. "Let me speak with Jeor. The both of you need to get to the great hall for induction."

. . .

Jorah and Robaire sat at one of the long-tables, Benjen and a few other rangers and stewards were already there. A large man stood up, grabbing everyone's attention. Jorah knew him from his grey beard, peppered with the slightest hint of black. His eyes still as sharp as they were when he was a boy.

"Men of the Watch. Let us welcome the new men to the Wall. Most of you are here to pay for your crimes." Jorah could swear his father's eyes were looking only at him, but it was only in his mind. "One of you however, has come to prove your worth to the Seven Kingdoms. I commend you greatly for that. To see such a young man come here to serve the realm." At the table, Robaire was smiling, his face blushing terribly, and the man next to him patted his back, raising the mug of ale. The others at the table joined in. Jeor had done one thing, and that was made these men brothers, that was something Jorah had to commend. The Night's Watch was not usually a place of honour.

"It will be hard here. And cold. Very, very cold." Many of the brothers in the room laughed at that. One yelled from the back.

"And don't believe for a moment that the women down in Mole's Town are any warmer!" The laughter in the room grew in volume, and some of the senior members sat near Jeor had grins on their faces.

Jeor brought his fist down on the table, trying to gain everyone's attention once more. "Settle down, men. Or should I call you boys. No, we are all brothers of the Watch. And soon, you new men will be brothers as well. Now eat. And within the week, you will have your assignments."

. . .

Quaint. That was the first word that came to Ser Jorah's mind as he was shown to his room. He supposed he should be thankful that he was given a single room - once again, by virtue of only his blood. He'd made sure that Robaire had settle into his room, feeling that the boy was somehow his responsibility. Unbuckling his scabbard, he placed it on the bed. Longclaw, his family's Valyrian sword was inside of it. He'd brought it with him to return to his father for his failure.

A knock came at his door, and Jorah went to open it. His father stared back at him. "We need to talk, son." The knight nodded his head, opening the door wider and moving back to his table. Jeor took a seat on the other chair. "I'm happy you're here. Not because of the circumstances. What you did could've seen you executed. But you're needed here - you are a good man son."

Jorah shook his head, and produced_ Longclaw_ from the scabbard. "I'm not worthy of holding this blade."

"I gave it to you, as was my duty. It is yours, so long as you are my son." A tear came to Jorah's eye. He was a man, and yet, he couldn't hold back the single tear.

He stood before the Lord-Commander, and spoke. "I will serve the Night's Watch 'til the end of my days, and do my duty to the realm. And restore honour to our family name."

"I know you will, son. I have long forgiven you."

* * *

**A/N**: As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	5. Ezra

**Ezra**

"Loose!" The knight standing on the battlements said, swinging his sword down. A barrage of arrows flew at the mannequins, many falling short or wide or travelling over. Yet, with the sheer force of arrows, many also found their marks, piercing into the targets. Raising his sword again, the archers, many wearing tunics bearing the Baratheon sigil, the black stag, on yellow or as close in colour as they could find, loaded their bows once more. The sound of nearly a hundred bowstrings being drawn back filled the yard, the leather of their gauntlets and shoulders bending.

With his sword raised, he yelled, "Loose!" once more, swinging the sword down. Another barrage of arrows hit the targets, porcupining them with even more broad arrows. "Enough. Draw swords!" At the command, the Baratheon soldiers dropped the short bows, unsheathing their blades - whatever they had, be them iron or steel. The sound of the blades being unsheathed was music to the knight's ears.

"Very impressive, Ezra," said Lord Renly Baratheon, watching from beside him. The Braavosi man nodded his head, accepting his lord's compliment.

"It never hurts to be prepared. Leniency and a lack of practise can see even the most powerful of lords fail should the worst happen."

Renly smiled, a common sight on the young lord. "And that is why I've you here, ser. To keep me from getting too comfortable in this time of peace. And make my blacksmiths rich with the amount of arrows they have to produce."

The man standing next to Renly scoffed. His tunic was green, and the rose pin upon his collar made his house known. "I still don't like it. Archers are not precise."

"That is true, a company of archers can be nasty, Ser Loras. But having them behind you can see a day won," Ezra said, looking out at the men collecting their arrows from the mannequins. A chuckle came from Renly.

"Nothing to worry about until the day they put archers on the jousting list. Wouldn't want that pricking you from behind." Loras' lips tightened as he tried to stifle a laugh. Ezra had to simply shake his head at the two young lords. The worst kept secret in all the Seven Kingdoms, Ezra had been with Renly since he was a ward to the Tyrell's. He'd seen him and Loras grow up together, grow close together.

And try as he might to counsel the young stag, he wouldn't take a lady as his wife, always saying soon. And always, Ezra would have to remind him that the Baratheon line ends with him. His brother Stannis had fled following the succession war's end. It was therefore Renly's duty to produce an heir. He looked out to the Narrow Sea, wondering what had ever become of Stannis Baratheon and the men who escaped with him. The sound of heavy boots nearing brought him back to the matters at hand.

"Lord Renly," the man started, removing his antlered helm. The yellow cloak about his shoulders denoted his rank, a captain. "Lord Buckler has arrived."

Renly turned to the man. "Has he a retinue? I don't seem to recall asking for Lord Buckler's presence. Have you, Ser Ezra?"

The Braavosi shook his head, "I've not, my lord."

Laughing, the young Baratheon lord turned to Loras. "Well, Lord Tyrell. Plotting a coup behind my very back with the Lord of Bronzegate. Why am I not surprised?" Renly winked as Loras laughed, punching Renly lightly.

The Baratheon soldier waited for Renly to turn back to him before continuing, "He's a handful of soldiers and knights, otherwise, no retinue, my lord."

"What could be so damned important that the great Lord Ralph would ride all the way to Storm's End," Renly said dryly. Loras snickered and Ezra had to grin, Renly was gregarious and had probably seen more laughing lines added to the Braavosi knight than anyone else. That much could not be denied by any lord in all of Westeros. The soldier was not falling into any traps however and stepped away, donning his antlered helm once more. "Come then my friends, let us see what is so important."

. . .

Lord Buckler kneeled before Renly as he walked into the great hall. His fellow comrades did the same. Renly rolled his eyes, looking to both Ezra and Loras before addressing the lord. "Please, rise, Lord Buckler. We are all of the Stormlands here."

The man rose, and one of the men beside him did the same. Only, the man was no man, but rather a younger boy, only tall. "My lord, I ask that you take my cousin, Brus, as a ward and teach him. He's a good lad, and I've had him learn the basics in both history and combat."

Curiously, Renly looked to Ezra, almost bidding him for help with only his eyes. The Braavosi warrior nodded his head. It would be good for Renly to have a ward and squire, someone to raise for a few years. Perhaps that would be enough to make him want to marry. Renly turned to the lord of the Bronzegate, waiting for a reply. "Allow Brus to step forward and present himself."

Stepping forward, the boy did so, bowing his head before raising it. Dark brown, curly hair and a strong face looked back. He reminded Ezra a bit of Lord Renly as a boy, though less delicacy to his features. And the freckles that adorned his nose were also not shared by the Baratheon. "I swear by the Gods that I will see myself thought of highly by you, my lord." The young man unsheathed his own sword, presenting it before Lord Renly.

"I am most certain that I will see great things from you, Brus of the Bronzegate." Renly smiled, walking down the steps and folding his hands around the sword. "I gladly accept your offer of wardship." The other men rose at that, and Lord Renly was quick to offer the hospitality of Storm's End to them. "My lord, and his company - I have nothing planned, but you are more than welcome to share in supper with me and stay under my roof for tonight."

Lord Buckler nodded his head in thanks, but said, "We thank you for your offer, my lord, but I've duties to attend to in Bronzegate. Perhaps the next time you ride north, you'll stay with us."

"It would be an honour, Lord Buckler. Your cousin is in good hands. I hope to see you proud of him the next time we meet."

"I'm not too worried of that. You are a Baratheon, and the last stag. My cousin could be in no better hands." Lord Buckler once more bowed his head, before departing the keep with his men. Only Brus remained behind, two bags of clothes saddled to his horse. And a knapsack full of quills and a book on his back.

. . .

Lord Renly had seen to it that he was housed in one of the finer rooms in the keep before returning out to the great hall. There, Sers Loras and Ezra were once again discussing the archery practise this afternoon.

"Will the two of you not give it a rest?" He put his hands on the table, giving out a heavy sigh.

Loras looked at him with his eyes wide open. "What is it? Is the wittle Baratheon lord tired from a long day?" Ezra noticed that Loras had started stroking Renly's hand on the table, but made no comment of it.

"Shut up, Loras." Renly grinned though, looking away from the Tyrell man.

"Maybe you need to make me," Loras said, moving closer to the stag. That was enough for the older knight.

Ezra stood up, clearing his throat. "And maybe it'd be best if I went to get some sleep. We've to discuss your acceptance of a new ward in the morning. Sleep well, you two." The Braavosi knight smiled at the two. No chance in Seven Hells that he would ever marry. But he was happy - they were both happy. And as he departed the great hall, nearing his room, he said out loud, "Duties be damned if they're happy."

He opened the door to his room, thinking back on his childhood. He'd never known his father, growing up and taking care of his mother and younger sisters, finding an apprenticeship at a blacksmith as early as he could.

Ezra unsheathed his sword, Deathdancer, from its scabbard along his belt. Braavosi steel, he'd learned the art of Water Dancing rather than follow in many others' footsteps and learn martial combat. Stabbing forward, he practised his footwork - to use a Braavosi blade was as much about controlling all aspects of the body and mind as it was about the sword in the hand.

It was his skills in Water Dancing that had seen him knighted by Ser Randyll Tarly early during the succession war, the older lord impressed when he held his own against a group of Baratheon soldiers during the Battle of the Grassy Vale. Ezra stopped; remembering those days was painful at times. He'd fought against the very people he now called his brothers - the same sort of men he now trained in the castle.

His mind went to the night he protected Lord Renly from a would-be assassin in Highgarden. Even if he was only a few years older than Renly, the Baratheon always looked to him for help and judgement. Much to the disagreement of the castle maester, a man who disagreed with the high position of a Braavosi within Renly's advisors. Ezra didn't care, what the maester thought meant nothing to Renly. And with his eyelids getting heavier the longer he went on thinking, he quickly fell asleep.

* * *

**A/N**: As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	6. Bran

**Bran**

With his auburn hair flowing behind him as he ran through the old gate, the young Stark boy laughed at his sister trailing behind him. The two guards stood at the door held their steel shields proudly, bowing their heads as the two Stark children ran past. She yelled, "Not fair!" as the boy started climbing the great ruined tower. He'd spent years practising the perfect route of ascent up the tower. Arya followed behind, more slowly climbing up the side.

Soon, he and his sister had both reached the apex, and stood on top to watch the royal procession coming down the Kingsroad far in the distance. Yet, even from that distance, they could make out the waving standards and banners of the King; the black flags with the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen was so iconic a sigil. A handful of crimson banners flew behind the dragons, bearing the golden lion of House Lannister. Even a Tyrell banner was flying in the procession, the golden rose on its green field.

The younger boy looked to his sister, "Brother's betrothed is coming with them?"

"I suppose so," the girl said, trying to spy any other banners within the mass of horses and carriages and wagons coming towards Winterfell. "Do you see that one, Bran?" Her fingers pointed at further behind the main column. It was a silver trout upon blue and red.

Bran nodded quickly, "Yes Arya. That's mother's house, Tully. What are they doing here?" Bran couldn't remember the last time he saw a member of House Tully come to Winterfell. Though, lords and ladies and knights from the other kingdoms seldom visited the North to begin with.

Arya shook her head, "They're probably only here for the King's visit. Last mother had heard, her father was sick. So it's not him who's coming." The boy sat down, letting his legs hang over the edge. A small piece of stone fell lose from the tower and Bran watched it fall and fall and fall, hitting the ground and breaking apart.

"Will you miss it?" the Stark boy asked, looking around at the expanse around Winterfell - the grass light and green in the later days of spring. The Wolfswood behind them to the east.

The girl didn't understand what he meant, and asked, "What?"

"Will you miss Winterfell - the North?" he said again, motioning around at everything around him. For a few moments, Arya was silent, and Bran thought that once again she had chosen to ignore him.

"No," the girl said, startling Bran with its finality, before sitting herself next to the boy. "What about you?"

"I don't know." Bran put his hands out, and continued, "In one way, this is our home. But, at the same time, we're going to King's Landing. And I'll become a knight, as I've always wanted."

He looked at Arya. "And you will find someone to teach you in the south. Become a lady-knight." Bran smiled cheekily at the girl who grinned back. The sound of a woman calling gathered their attention.

"Brandon! Arya! Climb down from there!" their mother called from the base of the tower. Arya looked to Bran, rolling her eyes.

"The King can probably hear her screaming so loudly." Bran laughed as he started on his way down the tower, Arya following his lead. The two children dropped off the last ledge onto the ground and turned around to face their mother.

"Now I know that the two of you know what you're doing, but look at you. Torn clothes and dirt and dust everywhere. The both of you need to change." Their mother had a firm look on her face, and both children knew it useless to resist.

Both Arya and Bran said in unison, "Yes mother." The three walked back to the keep.

Arya broke the silence, "You know there's a Tully flag out in the procession, mother."

"Edmure? Maybe my uncle? I haven't seen either in so long." The Tully woman smiled, thinking back on old memories. "You know Bran, you look much like my brother did when he was a young boy. If it's Edmure who's come, you'll see." He'd heard it before a billion times, his eyes the same rich blue as all the Tullys, and his hair as auburn as Sansa's.

"If it's my uncle, then you'll like him Arya. A bit of him in you. I hope it would be the both of them. Haven't seen any of my family in so long. But, the two of you need to get changed before the King arrives, so go, quickly."

. . .

Bran's room was large and comfortable, a true room of the North. His bed was covered in furs, and the boy ran his hand across it. He knew that once he reached the capital, it would be much warmer, and he'd not have such a room. A servant had laid out an outfit on his bed. He stripped down to his small-clothes, and blush came to his cheeks.

Reaching his arm down, he rubbed his stomach, feeling how smooth it was below his fingers. He'd been growing up and had noticed his body start to change. And though he was still lanky, that slight bit of muscle did exist from practising in the training yard with Jory and Rodrik. Bran looked at himself in the mirror, and fixed his hair, pushing it behind his ears. A part of him thought it looked rather unkempt like that and wanted to cut it off - but at the same time, his brothers and fathers kept their hair at the same length. "Perhaps when I get to the capital, I will but it off," he said to himself, still looking through the mirror.

He went over to the bed and grabbed his trousers, pulling them up to his waist. They were simple, brown and wool. A small trail of hair ran up his belly from underneath them and he once again blushed as he touched it. Walking back over to the bed, he grabbed the shirt, pulling it on, before grabbing the heavier leather and wool coat, pulling it on and tying it closed around his chest.

A knock came at the door, and he heard Fenrik say, "Lord Bran, your lady-mother says to hurry." Bran looked at himself in the mirror once more, fixing everything put out of place. He ran his hand along his cheeks and chin, feeling the slightest amount of hair starting to grow. If his older brother Robb were any indication, he'd be growing a lot of hair in a few years. But he put the mirror back down on the table and put on one last item, a grey cloak that all of them had been given to wear. And putting it on, Bran felt quite the part of a lord. The sound of his sister Sansa outside his door gave him cause to leave. How it would look if she beat him to his mother made Bran smirk.

He opened the door and nearly knocked her over, Sansa having to step backwards out of the way. Her friend Jeyne was stood next to her, and giggled at the action. Bran bowed his head and held his arm out, allowing them to walk in front of him. "My ladies, excuse me."

The three of them made their way out to the main courtyard, where almost everyone was already in position. "There the three of you are," Catelyn said at seeing Bran, Sansa and Jeyne. "You look very handsome Bran. Amazing what clean clothes does to a boy." The Stark boy blushed at that, and both Jeyne and Sansa giggled at his obvious discomfort.

"Thank you, mother." He was looking down and kicked at the dirt. Looking up, his mother was already off handling something else and he took the opportunity to look about the courtyard. Hundreds of men and women looked to be filling it to the brim, guardsmen in their finest livery bearing polished steel shields were lined along the walls facing inwards. Robb had his long sword strapped to his belt and for a moment, Bran was jealous that his brother was old enough to handle a weapon, while he had to wait. The thought passed and he continued scanning the yard, his blue eyes taking in everything he could.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, strong and resolute in its grip. Bran turned and smiled seeing it was his father. "Ready for the capital, son?"

Nodding his head, Bran started, "I'm ready to be a knight." Eddard laughed, a proud smile on his face.

"Aye, I know. You may be of the North, and be of my blood. But you're future lies in the south. Perhaps you shall be the first Stark in the Kingsguard?" Bran's grin widened at the prospect, but at the same time, he felt a bit worried, and taken back by the idea.

"Would that make you proud? No wife. No continuation of our line from me. To protect the king in the south." Eddard once again put his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Brandon Stark, you become a knight of the Kingsguard, and I could not be more proud of you. You know your uncle, my brother, serves the Night's Watch and does so out of a sense of duty. Your aunt is wife to the King. You would protect our blood in the future.

"There have been great, true knights of honour in the Kingsguard. Even now, Ser Arthur Dayne is one of the most honourable men alive. Even if you do not join the Kingsguard, a knighthood, a true knighthood is no act of impulse."

The excitement in Bran rekindled as his father spoke, and by the end of it, he had forgotten all of the worries but one. Forsaking love in the name of duty to the sacred brothers of the Kingsguard. He still had time, and perhaps he would simply be a knight of his house and live in the capital independently.

* * *

**A/N**: As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	7. Eddard

**Eddard**

As the King entered the central courtyard, he was leading the procession as Eddard had expected. Lord Stark shook his head at the ridiculousness of this all; that he would be named Hand. The King was garbed in heavy black tunic, the red dragon emblazoned upon his entire left side, his Valyrian crown sat on his head. Three dragons were fashioned into the steel-work, one eating the next. His horse was barded as well, black. Two members of the Kingsguard flanked him; Lord-Commander Arthur Dayne was on the left with his great-sword Dawn sheathed on his back - an imposing blade fabled to be made of the rock of a comet. On the right rode Ser Oswell Whent, his helm bearing the black bat wings of his house.

Behind him rode a younger man who looked much like the King, and Eddard guessed that it was the King's eldest son, Tristaen. His hair was dark, taking after his mother, and his skin a bit darker, but from this distance, he looked just as his father had when they were younger men. Another member of the Kingsguard rode beside him, Ser Barristan Selmy. He was an old man, even during the succession war, yet no-one could deny that he was a true knight. His service on the Kingsguard was not something to look at lightly. Following them were four mounted Targaryen men-at-arms. Their shields bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen and their black steel armour was even darker against the pale stone wall of Winterfell's keep. Their long pikes stood up - they were a show of force and bravado.

The carriage rolled in behind them, and Eddard had to smile knowing full well that Lyanna hated it, being carted around. Yet, he knew she was in there with the rest of the royal children - his nephews. It came to a stop, and Targaryen soldier opened the door, allowing the lady to step out. For the first time in nearly twenty years, Eddard was able to see his sister. She was unchanged from the last time, her face still as beautiful as it had been then. The thick dark hair of the Starks, and her eyes were grey as a wolf's pelt.

Two of the men-at-arms dismounted and stood guard of the carriage as the king dismounted his own horse. Eddard Stark kneeled as the King walked over, and as he kneeled, so too did everyone present. A hand touched his shoulder. "Stand, my old friend. I won't have my brother kneeling before me." Eddard stood up and the King embraced him, a full hug that brought a smile to Lyanna's face.

"It's been too long, Rhaegar," Eddard said as the King stepped away.

Rhaegar laughed, "That's why I'm bringing you back with me." The others in the courtyard rose at Rhaegar's laughing. His children had left the carriage, standing with their mother. Another woman, younger, was stood with them. "Now let me see my nephews here," he started, "And of course your beautiful wife, Lady Catelyn." He kissed her hand.

Three more men rode in through the gate, Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Jaime Lannister flanking the Lord-Paramount of the Westerlands, Tywin Lannister. Eddard nodded to the man as Rhaegar talked to Cat. He'd made the agreement with the Lannister lord years prior for a betrothal, and Robb knew his duty. He was excited even; Eddard had to commend that. He heard Rhaegar speaking again.

"You must be Robb." Rhaegar stopped for a moment, and Eddard knew why. He'd named his son after his friend, Robert Baratheon. Even if they had fought against each other, the two men had once been close. "A Tully through-and-through. A good strong lad."

He moved over to the girl, standing tall next to him. "And you are most definitely Sansa," he started, smiling, "All of the beauty and poise of your mother." Sansa curtsied before the King. She did well.

"And where Sansa takes after her mother, you take after your father. And your aunt. A true wolf. Believe me, your beauty is of a different stock." Rhaegar winked at the girl, and Eddard wanted to laugh and punch him altogether.

Bran stood next to his sister, and Rhaegar started, "Bran. I've heard tale you wish to be a knight, and fight in duels and tourneys." A smile came to king's face, a sad smile though. Eddard had known a young Rhaegar very similar to that. He had never wanted to be king, but the horrors his father had committed saw a bloody war fought to change that.

"More than that, your grace. I want to join the Kingsguard one day." Eddard smiled, proud of his son. His eyes went to the men stood behind the king, more specifically to Lord-Commander Dayne. A slight grin came to the knight's face at Bran's statement. And as Rhaegar was about to speak, Arthur cut in before him, the boy's face bustling with interest. For Ser Dayne to speak was well out-of-order, and he would have to thank him later.

"To serve in the Kingsguard is a noble act, my young lord. But one that not many aspire to. For one as young as you to think so highly of this sacred brotherhood, I will personally see to it your instruction in King's Landing includes myself." Bran was wide-eyed, and Eddard knew that inside, the young boy was bristling with excitement. Rhaegar put his hand on the boy's shoulder to calm him down, and Robb was laughing at his little brother's bobbing.

The king spoke, "I would be most open to such training. And before too long, I am sure we shall see a Stark filling the White Book with many accomplishments of bravery and nobility." Bran was speechless, and the king simply laughed before going over to the youngest of the Stark children. "Young Rickon, have you any ambitions of such a height?" Eddard wondered what the younger boy would say, he was a curious boy who took after his mother like Bran. Though his hair was far curlier.

"I don't know, your grace. I enjoy shooting the bow with my brother. And hunting with my father's quartermaster." Rhaegar smiled at the younger boy.

"You will do great things one day, Rickon. I'm sure of it." He walked back a bit, and addressed Eddard directly. "You've raised a good family here, Ned. Wouldn't you agree, my dear?" He had turned to Lyanna, and brought her forward.

The queen and her children came forward; his sister was wearing a grey cloak about her body, looking properly Northern. Ned had to smile and hugged her. "It's so wonderful to see you, Lyanna."

"And you to brother. I've missed the North so much down in the capital. How is our brother?" Lyanna said, the smile dancing upon her lips.

"Benjen's doing well. He said he would try and ride south before you leave to see you," Eddard said, releasing his sister from his grasp. She smiled before moving over to Catelyn to do the same, hugging her and asking how she was.

Rhaegar put his arms on his eldest son's shoulders. "This is Tristaen. Takes after Lyanna with his dark hair, but he's my son and my heir in blood." The boy smiled, obviously glad of the fact that he had the darker hair of his mother. Eddard couldn't help but notice him spying on Sansa with every chance he got, and Robb was not taking too kindly to it. Just like Rhaegar was all the Northern lord could think; a man whom every woman wanted to be with, the king was quite the charlatan in his early tourney years.

The next two children were both stood with Lyanna, twins. "As you know, these are Gyrred and Alys." For these two, their faces were the same, the violet eyes of Rhaegar staring back, but where the boy had dark hair like Lyanna, the girl had the king's hair, silver on her head. Both were Arya's age, and looked jovial for their being. The last stood a bit away from the others, next to his father.

"And this lad right here is my youngest, Rhaegon." If Rhaegar himself had not said it, Eddard would have not believed that he was the king's son. He looked like Lyanna to the core, his dark grey eyes and dark brown hair falling across his face.

"Well, he's definitely Lyanna's youngest," Eddard said, laughing with Rhaegar.

Rhaegar hugged his youngest son, "Ah, he's a good sport about it. Gets his mother's beautiful looks, and not his father's rough haggard look."

Catelyn had to comment on that. "Not so sure you're at all rough or haggard, your grace."

"You're too kind, my lady." Rhaegar said, that charming smile of him still the same from his youth. He was a man to steal the attention of all those around him, not a single doubt about that. The smallfolk loved him, the nobles adored him.

"Lord Stark." The voice cut through the courtyard. Eddard could never forget Tywin Lannister's voice. It commanded a great deal of power. He turned to the man, wearing his crimson Lannister coat, and once again nodded his head.

"Welcome to the North, Lord Lannister." His son stood next to him, the white cloak of the Kingsguard clasped to his breastplate. Might be him training Bran soon enough. His family was about to become forever intertwined with theirs. The Dornish man, Oberyn Martell, and Tywin's daughter, Cersei, were also present. As was the reason they had come North.

"Perhaps it would be best if we went inside, my lord," Tywin started, "So as to let the servants and caravaners ready for the evening." Eddard nodded his head at the suggestion. Others had come through the gate as well while the king had been talking. Brynden Tully, his wife's uncle; Garlan Tyrell, the second son of Mace Tyrell of Highgarden; and Jon Connington, the Lord of Griffin's Roost and a close friend to the king. What a day today had become, Eddard could only imagine the presence of these men.

* * *

**A/N**: As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	8. Joanna II

**Joanna**

Handsome. If there were one word Joanna could use to describe her betrothed, it would be that he was handsome. There was a softness to his grey eyes as he had been introduced to her, and his auburn hair looked like fire upon his head, the various shades of red and brown radiant. He'd been gentle in accepting her hand, and planting the most sincere of a kiss upon it. Even now, she held the hand up to her face - his warmth was still on it.

"Perhaps the North will not be so bad then, milady." Joanna's handmaiden entered the room carrying a bundle of clothes, a smirk on her lips. The Lannister girl quickly brought the hand away from her cheek, and blush went to replace it. "He's very chivalrous. As I've heard all the men of the North are."

Inside, Joanna knew that to be mostly true. She'd ridden with Lyanna, the Northern queen, on the way here and had heard plenty of the North. The queen had told her of the larger houses in the North, and Joanna knew that being Robb's wife would see her engaged with them all. "Stark. What a name."

"It's a strong name, milady." Joanna knew her histories, she knew of the power that the Stark family held in the North. Rivalling the might of the other kingdoms, the Starks had only bent the knee at seeing the might of Aegon the Conqueror's dragons. They'd surrendered their crown, and since had ruled the North in relative peace.

When the armies of the North marched, it was only under the most significant of duress and meant far greater troubles in the realm. With her marriage, the Houses Stark and Lannister would see kingdoms kept together. Or, she imagined that's what her grandfather and Lord Eddard saw of the marriage. Joanna spoke softly, "I will be carrying both the name of Lannister and Stark."

The handmaiden started combing Joanna's hair. "You are a strong lady. Robb would be unwise to test you." A smile came to the young girl's lips.

. . .

Ser Trevor was waiting outside her door to escort her to the great hall. The Starks were throwing a feast in welcome of the royal family, and to formally announce her betrothal to Robb. She'd heard from her handmaiden that Lord Roose Bolton and Lord Rickard Karstark had both arrived in Winterfell within the past hour. Joanna had heard plenty about Lord Bolton from Lyanna, and his baseborn bastard Ramsay Snow.

With his crimson cloak wrapped about his shoulders, Ser Trevor looked much more like a knight of the Reach. His helmet, crested in the normal Lannister manner, was in his arms. He wore his hair short and looked much like her uncle Jaime, only younger. And no matter where she went in all the Seven Kingdoms, she could trust that he would be behind her. Her lips curled up thinking of that. "Ser Trevor," she said, closing the door behind her.

"My lady," the young knight said, bowing his head in respect. She shook her head at his civility - he'd never change, and she wasn't sure she wanted him to. "Are you ready to go?"

Joanna nodded her head yes, and the two of them made their start to the great hall down the corridor. Winterfell was large, and at every opportunity, she made sure to remember its many passageways. As they came upon what she assumed to be one of the more significant passages, the two of them ran into many men and women scurrying about, as well as the occasional knight - two of whom had come from the Stormlands, their antlered helms an imposing show. And not after too long, the two Westerners came to the entrance of hall.

"There you are, sweet daughter." Joanna turned and found her father coming in behind them. Her mother was stood with him, her arm under his. While the two hadn't been so happy in the beginning - the purpose of the marriage purely political, the lioness and the viper had come to love each other with her birth. Looking at them had always made Joanna hopeful that she would go through the same. Though, perhaps with her, she wouldn't have to wait so long.

Cersei broke free of him and walked towards Joanna, fixing a strand of hair that had fallen short of her ear. A smile came to the Lannister woman's face, her lips twitching upwards. There was a wetness to her eyes that shone in the torchlight; Joanna could swear she had been crying, but thought it impossible. The two of them hardly got along; she was insufferable. Though, as her mother looked into her eyes, she suddenly felt very afraid. Cersei began speaking softly, but to Joanna, her words were all that she could hear. "You look beautiful. You'll be in the eyes of everyone here."

Oberyn spoke, moving to his daughter as well, though stopping short and putting his arm around Cersei. "She reminds me of a certain Lannister when she was a younger woman, going to tourneys and hoping for favours. It's not too late, we can all three of us run now, get on some horses and ride south as fast as possible." Both the Lannister women grinned, and Cersei even laughed, a sound that Joanna had seldom heard from the woman.

"We could," Cersei started, "But, she's ready. She'll bend these Northerners to her." Cersei looked up to Oberyn before looking back at Joanna. "She's our daughter."

"Yes. A lioness with a poisonous bite." Joanna took a deep breath as the three entered the hall.

. . .

Her mother had been right. As she walked into the hall, it felt as though all the Seven Kingdoms were watching her right now. Yet she held her head high, and let the breath out. The crimson dress she was wearing flowed behind her, the golden flames of House Martell embroidered on her sleeves complementing the golden mane going around the collar. She made the distance to the table at the head of the hall, her mother and father silently behind her.

Ahead of her, Lord Eddard sat. King Rhaegar had allowed him to seat in the centre seeing as Winterfell was his keep. Lady Catelyn and her children sat to the right, bending around the table. Queen Lyanna and hers mirrored on the left. Yet right now, all of their eyes were focused on the young woman from Casterly Rock. She did as she was instructed, curtsying before the king first. "Your grace."

From there, she curtsied to Lord Stark. "My lord."

Robb stood up really quickly, and Eddard laughed, looking at his son with humour in his eyes. Joanna blushed at his rashness, though she couldn't deny how cute it had been. "Is there something you'd like to say, son?"

The young Stark man coughed, but before he could speak, Rhaegar spoke. "Seems like the boy is as taken aback by Lady Lannister's beauty as we all are." Many within the hall laughed to that; Joanna was too focused on Robb to notice anyone else. He was smiling at her, and she looked down, a grin came to her lips.

"My lady," he said, bowing and sitting down again. Joanna went over to sit with her parents and Lord Tywin, she would be with Robb soon enough.

King Rhaegar stood up with a glass in his hand and said, "Let the feasting begin!"

* * *

**A/N**: As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	9. Lewyn

**Lewyn**

The campfire grew warmer as the Sun fell beyond the horizon came on. A man was sitting by the flame, warming himself in its glow. His mind thinking back to years ago. Once, he'd been a prince. A prince of Dorne. He looked at the shield sitting across from him, the inverted colours of House Martell painted upon it. Great fountains, and people who loved life. That was what Sunspear was to him a long time ago. Now though, it was but a distant memory, his younger nephew had become Lord-Paramount and ruled Dorne, even with his illness.

It would not have mattered anyway for the man had once been a knight of the Kingsguard, forsaking his line in succession, serving alongside his brothers to defend the Targaryen king, Aerys II. What a laugh to be had at that. He'd shed that white cloak long ago - the day that Robert Baratheon arrived at the capital. It was as though no time had passed at all. Not only had he forsaken his vow to the Kingsguard, but he had committed the greatest crime a knight of their honour could commit. His blade had pierced the heart of the king.

"Kingslayer. That's what I am." The words were soft as they left the Dornish man's mouth, losing themselves in the fire. He'd had reason to kill the king - to defy his brothers-in-arms. Aerys had commanded them to kill his niece. To kill Elia. It had been the White Bull himself who had told him they would turn their backs and ride for Rhaegar Targaryen. But only so long as he took only the children and leave the capital. And leave Elia. One loyal Targaryen man-at-arms stood guard of her room. He asked the Dornish man to give him his Kingsguard armour - he would make it look that the exiled man perished in the keep. And so he did.

Lewyn Martell had died that day in the Red Keep, had died defending his honour and his niece. The man who sat in front of the fire now was but a mere shade; a shadow of the man who stood vigil that day. He took a swig of the bottle of rum in his hand, downing the acrid tasting liquid before throwing what was left in the fire. The glass shattered, drawing the attention of one of the other sellswords in the camp.

"What's bothering you, friend?" Lewyn knew the man's origin, the tell of a man of the North was clear. He wasn't the Dornishman's friend though, but right now, the man was in no mood to argue.

"The war." That was all he answered the sellsword with, turning to look at a pair of outriders moving through the camp.

Instead of leaving, he took a seat across from Lewyn, pulling the leather gloves off his hands. "Aye, I know the feeling. You lose a lot?"

"Everything." Lewyn looked sullenly into the fire, kicking at the edge of it with his boot. One of the sticks gave way, and the fire died down a bit.

"I know about loss." The sellsword crouched forward, his eyes focused on the flame dancing around. "Ironborn raided my hamlet during the war. Murdered..." The man went silent, and Lewyn had to look up at him. The Northerner took a breath before continuing. "Did more than just murder me wife. My children, my little children... I lost my family. My livelihood. Thought about joining the Watch." He stopped once more, looking into the fire.

"But then the Gods seemed to hear my prayers. Balon Greyjoy rose up against the Throne, and I rode fast for Winterfell. Lord Stark listened to my plea, and accepted me into his service. And when we went south, when we crossed over to the Iron Islands, I killed out of vengeance. It was Euron Greyjoy who killed my wife. I know it was that damned squid. I swore once more to the Gods that I would not rest until he was dead. I've been going about the world ever since, trying to find that monster. Joined up with this company to put men of a similar stock around me." The man stood up and walked around the fire, putting his hand on Lewyn's shoulder. "Believe me. You're not the only one, brother." He walked away leaving the Dornishman and his slowly dying fire. The sound of the tent flap behind him opening up startled him.

"Uncle?" The boy said, his dyed black hair tumbling about his left eye. He'd been sleeping, which was a good thing. The boy hardly slept. And as much as Lewyn felt pride in the boy's desire to learn, to stay up and watch the sellswords fight, or to read from the small library the Dornishman had accumulated; he'd faced a hard life, especially after his sister had died.

"You should be sleeping, Liam," Lewyn said plainly. After so many years, he was still not accustomed to calling Aegon by the false name. But it was for his protection. The boy came over and sat next to him, ignoring his uncle's statement. He was a stubborn boy.

"I heard voices. Anyone we know?"

Lewyn didn't answer, instead taking a good look at the boy next to him. Though, he wasn't so much a boy anymore. He'd grown into a young man. He still looked nothing like his mother, instead pale and tall like his father. And his eyes were such a dark, red-violet; no Targaryen the man from Dorne had met had eyes like his. Luckily the men here didn't pay is eyes so much attention thanks to the dye, and since Aegon was smart to keep himself out of trouble or unwanted attention. But the dye was starting to run out of his hair; Lewyn would have to fix that in the morning.

"Just a sellsword sharing a story. Plenty of war stories to be heard around here, as you well know nephew."

"As I've heard from you," Aegon said, looking to the older man. Lewyn knew what he was going to say next, but let the boy speak anyway. "What of my uncle? Would he not see to it that my claim is legitimised? And come to my aid?" Lewyn looked back into the fire before replying.

"Your uncle was awarded Dragonstone after the war. Viserys' lucky to have been given that much. He'll have learned not to betray his brother." The older knight stood up and stretched his arms out before Aegon could continue. "The both of us need to get some sleep. Another long day of training tomorrow. And I need to fix your hair in the morning."

Lewyn saw the smirk that came to the prince's face, and Lewyn playfully pushed his shoulder. "You know what I mean. C'mon, sleep."

* * *

**A/N**: As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	10. Willem

**Willem**

The moon filled the sky over the harbour, its light illuminating the decks of the many ships putting to port for the night. For the boy on-board _The Young Fox_, this was his destination, as putrid as it was.

"All men for Harlaw, this is it," called the quartermaster of the ship. Using a fair bit of coin he'd mustered growing up in Dorne, the boy was able to buy passage on a trade ship. Many of his fellow "travellers" were Reachmen traders and sailors. Whatever they hoped to seek on Harlaw was their own business, the boy had come only for one thing. To reclaim an artefact lost long ago.

The sea air stank of fish, ale and worse. Before he could step off however, a mailled fist grabbed him by the front. "You coming back on this ship, boy?" He wasn't entirely sure if he would be coming back aboard, but in his hesitation, the man continued. "Name?"

"Willem."

Looking down at the shortsword sheathed at his waist and the golden hand of House Allyrion on his breast, the quartermaster raised an eyebrow. "You belong to a house?" Willem thought for a moment. He did belong to a great house, one long thought dead. No need to let the sailor know that.

"Sand."

"You're a Dornish bastard?"

Willem's lips went thin as the man finished speaking, nodding. The sailor jotted it down on some ledger, then looked back at Willem. "You don't look it, but that's enough for me. Watch yourself out there, these Ironborn scum don't play around. If you're hoping to take any out with," the man once again looked down at the blade, "that, I'd advise against it. Not too many friends to be found here. Ship puts out in the morning. Feel free to sleep below deck if it so pleases you." He started walking away towards another person on-board, and Willem heard him mutter, "Know it pleases me. Damned islanders can't keep an inn clean for shit."

Leaving the ship, he brought the red cloak he was wearing tighter around himself, yet kept his head raised. He needed to look like he knew exactly what he was doing; even though right now, he hadn't the slightest idea. There were plenty of dilapidated buildings rounding the harbour. Inns and brothels and taverns aplenty, with banners and signs worn from years of rain. Willem chose one of the smaller taverns, _the Thirsty Lute_. Didn't seem to be too dirty, the man who had just walked in was wearing fine clothing - or at least, finer clothes than many of the other people he saw walking about the street wore.

Stepping inside, Willem wasn't so sure he was right in his judgement. The man seemed to be an outlier; this place was a step above a ruin. The smell of smoke and booze filled the air. The men sat at the table nearest the door looked at him with scrutiny. Willem walked towards the bar, thinking that maybe he'd get some information from the barkeep. He sat down between two men, both turning to look at him then going back to their drinks. The one on his left was wearing chainmaille underneath his tunic. Willem was trying to get a better look and hadn't seen the barkeep come up.

The sound of mug slamming down in front of him made the boy jump in his stool. "Wh'll 'e?" the barkeep said, scraping the inside of the mug off with a rag that looked like he'd just wiped his own arse with it. Willem hadn't the slightest idea what the barkeep had said.

A slight bit of blush came to the boy's face. "Pardon me?"

"I 'aid wha' 'ill it be?" The barkeep put his arm down, moving very close to Willem. Now, the boy could see that he was missing many of his teeth. Made him want to wretch.

Another voice cut in, coming from the man next to him. The voice sounded strong, and Western. "He'll be having a cup of water." The man pointed at the pot over the fire. "From that pot." The keeper went over and filled it, walking back over and handing it to Willem.

"Thank you, ser," he said, taking a sip of the water. He laughed, downing his own cup.

"Just helping a fellow man of the Westerlands. What brings you to this shithole?" The sound of something crashing interrupted the question. Suddenly the tavern became very quiet, everyone's attention focused on a table in the centre. A large man was standing over a broken table, over another man laid in a heap. An axe was sticking out of his mid-section.

"You think you can go back on a Drumm's oath," the man yelled at the other man. He unsheathed a blade from his back and brought it down on the man, slicing him clear down the centre. A red sword. Willem's eyes went wide at seeing it, and he started reaching down for his sword. "You fucking oath breaker. Serves you right. "

He looked up at all the faces looking back at him, the blood of the dead man dripping. "Get back to your fucking drinks, or I'll kill the lot of you." He left the building, his lackeys in tow,

Willem had his hand around the hilt of his sword, and was ready to follow them. A strong grip grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.

"What are you doing, lad?"

"That man. Let go of me!" Willem struggled to get out of the other man's grip.

"To do what? Get yourself killed? Settle down." The man's grip relaxed as Willem calmed down, and the both of them turned back to the bar. "Now why would a boy from the Westerlands be so interested in Denys Drumm?"

Willem drew his lips tightly. Telling him the truth could ruin his very purpose of being here. The man continued talking. "You must know that he puts out to sail tonight." He didn't know that, but no reason in telling him that.

"I know that his ship sails tonight." The man laughed, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Ser Neville Gardner at your service. I will help you get on his ship, Allyrion." Willem's eyes went wide, but he supposed it was pretty obvious with the sigil on his tunic. And this man was highborn.

"Why?"

"Because I have my own reasons for wanting to see the man dead. It was Denys that killed my brother in the rebellion." The man's eyes were hard. "Well c'mon then. We have a ship to catch."

Silently, the two men left the tavern, advancing along the cobbled path towards the dock. In the torchlight, it was hard to see what ship was what. Until they came across Denys' ship. The red field of his house, the skeletal hand emblazoned upon it, hung from the central mast of the boat. It wasn't a longship, much to the Westerner's surprise, but rather a typical galley. A few men stood around the plank to get on board, their steel axes glowing in the light. Neville started speaking.

"So, here's how we'll go about it. You can climb that?" He pointed towards the rear of the ship, the ledges of the windows looked simple enough to climb. Willem nodded his head, focusing on the men clambering about the deck. They didn't have the luxury of time. He needed to be on the ship. "We'll climb it together and wait for the ship to make to the sea. There can't be more than twenty men on board. We can take them, if we work together."

Willem nodded his head again. "Alright, let's go." Once more, the two men moved silently towards the rear of the vessel. With their cloaks up, and a set determination, not many gave them any suspicious looks. And they cleared the distance quickly. The younger boy jumped on first, grabbing at the lowest window ledge before climbing up. He didn't imagine the curtains within would be opened much by the raiders. A few minutes passed, and he made it to the top. Looking down, he could see Nevlille climbing as well, far more discreetly than he had.

Someone on board the ship began yelling orders. "Bring the anchor up! Cut the lines!"

"Aye milord," came the reply of many of the men, the vibration of their boots could be felt in both men's hands. Willem felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Neville with his finger up to his lips. The nerve of him - he knew he had to be quiet. Some time passed before the two men could no longer see the port. And soon, no land on the island of Harlaw was visible at all. The boy wanted to strike now, he reached down for his shortsword, grabbing at it to make sure it was loose.

The sound of heavy boots walking up the stairs to the wheel came to both men's ears. A voice started speaking, more calmed than that of Denys. "What's Euron doin' in King's Landing? Thought 'e was dead."

"Apparently not," the Drumm lord said, the annoyance heavy in his throat. "He's called on me and Eren Blacktyde to sail for the capital. That's where we're goin'. Have you a problem with that sailor?"

"No." A long breath passed before he finished. "Captain." The man walked away, his boots sounding as he stepped down the stairs.

A few moments passed, and another pair of boots walked away. Willem couldn't give a damn about any Greyjoy, now was the time to strike. He started climbing up and over the bannister.

He felt Neville's hands try in vain to grab onto him, but he was too quick for the older knight. He heard Neville's "damn" as he made his way towards the stairs. The sound of the men drinking on the main deck became louder, and Willem counted at least ten of them there. He thought to himself that maybe if he killed Denys quickly, the ship would fall into disarray. He had to take the chance and started down the steps, creeping up behind the big Ironborn man, and unsheathed the shortsword. He may call it _Lionsbane_, but tonight, it would pierce the heart of this pirate.

Laughing came from the man in front of him, and without warning he stood up and faced Willem. "Next time you sneak up on a man, don't take your blade out in view of the fire." The boy stepped back, bringing the sword up in front of him. A few of Denys' men stood up, but he waved them off. "I think I can handle this little seal on me own." He didn't unsheathe the Valyrian blade, going instead for his dagger. It was a mistake he would soon wish he hadn't made.

Clearing the distance between them, Willem ran at the captain, dodging underneath the heavy swing and rolling out of danger. His cloak had come off and he was left in his tunic and leather trousers, shortsword in hand. The other men had cleared out of the way, allowing the duel to commence. "Just a little pup with a little blade. Who gave you the toy?" Some of the men in the crowd laughed; some did not. Above the captain, Willem could see Ser Garner watching from the upper deck. His hand was on his sword but he only watched.

Willem tightened the grip around his sword, waiting for the bigger man to make his move. He did, taking a few large steps and swinging the dagger in a wide arc. Using the time to move to the left, the young warrior sliced at Denys' right arm, leaving a nasty gash in wake of the blade. The Drumm looked down at the bleeding wound, screaming at Willem, "You fucking cockroach!" He stepped at the boy again, this time swinging and shoving with his arm. Willem blocked the blade but felt the Ironborn's arm slam against his chest, knocking him to his knees.

Using this opportunity to shuffle over, the Drumm raised the dagger up and brought it down towards Willem's neck. The younger boy, finding the right moment, slid over to the left, stabbing upwards with the shortsword. It pierced through the man's armpit, rupturing out the other side. He'd left a chink in his armour, and the boy had exploited it. The dagger flew from the Ironborn's hands, sliding across the deck. Screaming in pain, the man fell to the ground. Willem stood up and towered over him. "This is for my family." He reached down and drew the Valyrian sword from the scabbard on the man's back. He couldn't move his left side at all, the boy's blade was still stabbed through it, blood pouring from the wound.

"Your family! What have I done to your fucking family? Fuck you." He spit, blood shooting out of his mouth and hitting the deck. Willem held the blade in his hand and looked at it. The redness of the blade shimmered in the moonlight, looking ethereal. The rubies along its hilt were glowing as the steel did. He tightened his hold around the hilt, testing its weight. Like all Valyrian steel swords, it was light, yet strong.

"This blade had a name, you know. _Red Rain_. A blade your family stole from mine." Realisation came to the Ironborn's face, and he stammered for a rebuttal. But it was too late; Willem brought the sword down in a sweeping motion, and took the head of Denys Drumm from his body. He stood up with the blade in his hands and looked to the rest of the crew. The remainder had poured out of the galley and below deck during the duel. They had simply stood and watched as their captain died. The boy looked up at the wheel once more and saw Ser Neville watching with that hard look in his eyes. The boy spoke to the crew, and simply said, "This ship is mine. Accept that or join your captain in whatever hell he's rotting in."

* * *

**A/N**: Quite a different feel to this chapter. And, yes, I'm too in love with this house to let them have simply died off!

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	11. Jaime

**Jaime**

If there were one thing the Lannister knight could say about his time in Winterfell, it was that it was refreshing to be out of the capital. The Northern air was cold, but it felt good in his lungs as he made his way across the courtyard outside. A few man-at-arms were training in the practise yard, even with the moon cresting the keep. Jaime couldn't blame the men though, he didn't necessarily look forward to the great hall either. He'd spent most of the afternoon roaming around outside the keep and the town, riding around. Joanna had told him she would miss the fields and valleys outside Casterly Rock, and he had to report back to her that there was plenty of land around. The forest itself looked daunting enough to him. No more daunting then the double oaken doors in front of him though. Might as well get it over with.

The blonde haired knight's eyes went about the hall, taking in each lord and lady. Many had already left for the evening, returning to their rooms. The Stark children and the royal family noticeably absent from his gaze. His fellow knight of the Kingsguard, Ser Arys Oakheart, had gone with them. He was a good man, and took great care of their protection. Jaime was usually assigned to guard them as well. Tonight though, everyone was busy feasting, and Jaime had decided to relax at the king's suggestion. He found his father engaged with Lord Bolton, sitting himself down as the Northern lord was speaking - answering some question Jaime hadn't heard.

"Can't deny that, but I do believe it was the Westerlands that remained neutral during the war. Not even providing a single soldier to any of the claimants," he said, that look of snide confidence on his face. His gloved hands were laying on the table as his eyes went to Jaime sitting down. "Ser Jaime," he continued, bowing his head out of some mock respect.

"I chose to stay neutral out of respect to House Targaryen's internal affairs. My sworn lords followed my example." The words left Tywin's lips, as he turned to regard Jaime's presence. He turned back to the Lord of the Dreadfort, and began speaking; the calm in his tone would be unnerving to many. Jaime was used to it. "I believe I heard tale of a certain Northern lord refusing to ride south during the Greyjoy Rebellion. When Ironborn were laying waste to your own liege lord's lands, you didn't answer his call to arms."

Roose paid him no reply, rather, he simply grinning to concede a tiny defeat before once again looking to Jaime. "Well, my son hasn't seen any kings die on his watch." The words left like poison from the Bolton lord's mouth. Jaime moved himself forward in the seat, ready to respond, but was stopped by another man seating himself at the table.

"Hello father," the man said, the words coming out like a jest was behind them. Jaime went silent at the black haired man's introduction. His blue eyes were piercing as he looked at the Lannisters. Roose however seemed to enjoy the man's company, putting his arm around him. Or at the very least, tolerated him.

"My lord, may I introduce my son, Ramsay." A thin line was all that came to Tywin's face. The knight of the Kingsguard found it all of sudden very hard not to laugh at the look. "Now, I believe we were just about to-" Lord Tywin cut him off.

"My son defended the Targaryen king 'til his death. Your bastard," Ramsay flinched at the word, his eyes beginning to fill with hate, "will not see any kings die on his watch for he has not the honour nor ability to serve before one." The Lannister's words cut like Valyrian steel, and Jaime reached down for his sword as the bastard stood up suddenly, afraid the man would might try something drastic. Yet once again, Roose simply smiled - the look was fitting for the man.

His arms both spread out before him, and he said, "Now, now. No need for that. Sit down Ramsay." The man sat down, slamming his fist against the plate, breaking it apart. "At least my heir is a male." At that, Jaime wanted to plunge his sword through the man. A slight against his sister and his mother was uncalled for, and made him angry. As Tywin was about to speak, another voice cut in.

"My lords," said Lord Eddard, bowing his head before the four of them. Lord Bolton quickly stood up, bowing his head lower.

"Please my lord, join us for a drink."

Ramsay quickly stood up, kicking his chair out and stomping out of the room. Roose looked after him with a grimace on his face, only sitting after Eddard had sat. "Excuse my son." Jaime looked away, the grin on his face, waiting for his father to reply.

"Now that it's only men left at the table, perhaps we can actually have a discussion." Tywin looked to Eddard, ignoring whatever face the other lord was making. Which of course was another smile; Jaime was quickly becoming annoyed by the man. "I can speak for myself when I say that I am greatly looking forward to your presence in the capital, Lord Stark. Lord Velaryon was a good Hand, but perhaps a Northerner in the capital will give for more varied policies." Roose let out a dry chuckle, causing Tywin to point his gaze at the man.

"Does Lord Velayron's death amuse you?" Eddard remained quiet, and Jaime had to give the Lord of Winterfell some credit. Had one of Tywin's subjects acted so brazenly, he would most likely have lost his head. The Stark man had patience. He'd need it in the capital.

Roose shook his head, "Not his death. I seem to remember a certain Lannister was Hand to King Aerys." He stood up, yet continued to speak. "Quite a fall. Is it two Hands you've served under now?" That damned smile came back to Roose's lips, his pale eyes were emotionless. "Excuse me, my lords."

The three men at the table watched the man walk away, his gait was perfectly in control. Seldom did a man walk away from Lord Tywin having slighted him like that, and live to tell about it. Jaime's father turned to Lord Eddard, and before he could speak, the other lord spoke. "Please, call me Ned. We'll be together for some time. And we're joining our houses after all." Eddard to a drink, all of a sudden looking very tired.

"Very well, Ned. I take it Joanna is to Robb's liking?" A hearty laugh came from the Northern lord, and Jaime had to grin at that. His niece had made quite an entrance, or so he heard.

"Aye. My son could hardly contain himself." Eddard thought a bit, before continuing. "She'll like it here. It's no Casterly Rock. And White Harbour is not large enough to compare it to Lannisport."

Jaime had to cut in, "I went riding around. Lots of land out there. She likes riding, and looks like that shouldn't be a problem."

Another laugh came from Eddard. "I'd say the only problem would be my son chasing after her." The three men continued talking as the servants began tearing down some of the trappings. Many of the patrons had left the feast since Jaime had joined in, only Lord Rickard seemed to remain of the Northern banner-lords. And he was speaking to Ser Garlan it looked. Another man walked up to the table. His greatsword was strapped to his back even now.

"Evening, my lords. Jaime." Lord-Commander Arthur Dayne sat down at the table, looking naked outside of his white armour. It was Lord Eddard who spoke first.

"Thank you again, Arthur. Bran has talked of the Kingsguard for years. Pretending in the training yard - re-enacting your charge at the Trident." Once more, a legitimate smile came to Arthur's face. It was something Jaime rather found pleasant; made him seem far more human than normal.

"Your son seems like a good, smart lad. Courage and a strong heart." The Lord-Commander looked to Jaime. "Reminds me much of you when you were but a young squire, begging for a knighthood." Jaime had to laugh at that.

"Begging? You've the wrong squire then."

"You're right Ser Jaime Lannister. Was a lot more like complaining." A tiny grin came to Tywin's face, and Arthur leaned back on the bench. "See? Even your father agrees with me." All of the men at the table laughed, filling the even more empty room with sound and life. It was Ser Arthur who stood first, apologising to the two lords. "My apologies, Lord Stark, but Jaime and I have business to attend to. I will find you and your son in the morning. I would like to see him out on the training field." The two men departed through the main doors, stepping out into the cold night.

* * *

**A/N**: Plenty of fun interaction this chapter!

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	12. Willem II

**Willem**

He stood there, the sword was coated in blood. It didn't matter anyway - Valyrian steel did not rust. And if anyone's blood should soak it, it should be the blood of one of the families that had wronged his family long ago. But not too long ago for many of the older sailors on the ship to know the tale. How House Reyne had been eradicated that day. All of them fools for believing that, believing that Tywin Lannister was infallible. Incapable of failure. And now, he had a ship to his name. Or would soon enough.

All of the Ironborn men stood silent at Willem's demands. One, a burly man with a chunk missing off his arm, started raising an iron battle-axe. The men near him took on a look of hatred, moving ever closer to the boy. If it hadn't been for the first mate holding up his clenched fist, Willem wasn't sure if he could've taken on all of them. The man pointed at the body, the shortsword was still stabbed through his now headless corpse. "Well, you've balls boy. Denys Drumm's no pushover. Lucky for you he'd been drinking. Arrogant fool deserved that."

A faceless man from the crowd said with iron in his throat, "That's our captain you're speaking of Erik."

"Was our captain. You plan on sailing to King's Landing under a corpse's command?" The first mate moved closer to Willem, stopping short to get a better look. "I believe we can all be gentlemanly about this." Willem looked back up at the wheel, seeing Neville wasn't standing there. The Westerner wondered where he'd gone, only to find that he'd moved closer to the crowd. Willem pulled his sword up, pointing it at the man.

"Let him through first." The Ironborn standing around the knight jumped out of the way, drawing knives and cutlasses.

The first mate had a look of frustration on his face. "Put your fucking blades away, or I'll let the boy kill you lot as well." With grimaces, the men did as they were instructed. They feared the first mate. That was good to know. "So what do you say to discussing terms?" Ser Gardiner had made his way over to the boy, throwing his hood back. The course brown beard on his face made him look even more haggard than usual in the torchlight.

Willem bent down, drawing the shortsword out of Denys' body. He sheathed it in his scabbard, then slowly bent down and pulled Red Rain's scabbard off of the corpse, fastening it around himself. He needed to test their patience first. Holding the red blade up once more, he spoke harshly. "I laid my terms out raider. You," he pointed the blade at him and swung it in a wide arc towards the rest of them, "All of you heard my terms. Speak yours then."

A chuckle came from the Ironborn leader. "Aye lad. I propose this. Anywhere you need sailing to, we'll see to it you get there. No harm to you or your companion." There was something else hanging in that statement, and Willem took a step forward.

"And?" The Ironborn flinched before replying.

"The cargo on-board is ours." Willem looked down at the tunic he was wearing, torn across the chest where Denys had shoved him away with his gauntleted hand.

"Any armour is of my choosing."

Surprisingly, a smile came to the raider's face as he crossed his arms. "Aye. Your pick of any armour on the ship. Sound good?" The boy thought for a moment. A ship would come in handy, but these were pirates, and his luck would run out eventually. Free passage and armour alone was a good deal. As he was about to agree to it, Neville spoke.

"There's something on-board that belongs to me. I don't know where Denys' would be keeping it. But it's mine."

"And who are you to make demands?" the raider said.

The knight stood tall, and replied, "Ser Neville Gardiner."

"Truly? Denys' has made quite the collection of enemies. Very well, whatever this piece of cargo is, it's yours." The raider held his arms out, signifying agreement Willem supposed.

"Have a name?" the boy asked, still cautious about agreeing to this deal.

The raider bowed, "You may call me Blackfoot. On my word as a Cladwell, this crew will bring you no harm. Only name a destination."

Willem thought long and hard on where he needed to travel. What allies could he look to in the Seven Kingdoms now that his father had died? House Allyrion would support him in the long term, but right now, he needed other help. A champion, or one lord he could trust. He laughed to himself, and thought, why not travel to the most untrustworthy place in the Seven Kingdoms. "King's Landing."

"Very well, the ship is yours." Many of the men still stood uneasy, looking to one another. The sound of forged steel rang through the air. "Did our friend here not make his words clear enough for your fucking heads? All sails to King's Landing!" The night crew moved to work as many of the men went back down to the crew quarters. Blackfoot sheathed the blade before making his way towards the wheel deck. "Feel free to use Denys' old room tonight. He won't be getting much use of it."

Sheathing his own blade, Willem bowed his head, making way for what he presumed to be the captain's quarters. Neville followed closely behind, his eyes watching to make sure they weren't being too closely watched. He closed the door behind them after they had entered then turned to look at the boy. "Your..."

"The last living member of House` Reyne, Ser Gardiner." Willem took both scabbards off, hanging them on a rack near the bed. The silence of the knight didn't bother him. Neville looked haggard, but he wasn't old enough to have been there, or to have been impacted by the events at Castamere. Though, Willem supposed that neither was he. Another cot sat on the opposite side of the room, and Willem imagined that Neville would have moved over to it. Instead, he turned around and was stunned at what he saw. The knight had kneeled down in front of him, his blade upon his hand.

"I may not be much, my lord. But I have little to offer. Accept my blade in your service, and I will help you strike down your enemies." Willem was taken aback by the actions of the knight. He was offering his services. The boy felt a bit of pride, but more fear than anything else. The first knight, the first man, in over a half-century to swear to House Reyne.

Willem folded Neville's fingers over the blade. "Of course, ser. Rise Ser Gardiner, knight of Castamere. Together, may we vanquish those who've wronged us." The knight stood up, towering over the boy. Yet, sworn to him, it felt different. Willem felt taller than the man before him.

"Get some sleep, my lord. I'll keep watch over you for the night." Rather than argue with the man, Willem nodded his head, falling onto the feathered blanket and quickly falling asleep.

. . .

Morning came with the soft sound of waves crashing about the ship. Willem sat up in the bed and looked around the room. Something was off, and he figured it out. Ser Neville was nowhere to be seen. The door to the room opened, and for a moment, Willem was nervous. Of course, it was the knight.

"Morning, my lord. Blackfoot was wondering if you were awake - he's asking if you'd like to visit the armoury." Neville walked further in, opening the knapsack on the table, spilling out its contents. "I need to take care of something. It's perfectly safe out there; the crew... well, you'll see."

Willem climbed off the bed, stretching his arms out. He strapped the longer Valyrian blade to his waste first, then tied the shortsword's scabbard over it. Hardly any weight came from the larger blade now strapped to him. Stepping through the door to the outside, he was hit by the strong smell of the ocean. And he looked around, taking in the deep blue waters around him for miles in all directions. His eyes continued along the deck until they came across Denys' corpse; a rope tied it to the main mast, a pike with his head mounted on it erupting from where his neck was. It was a gruesome sight to behold.

"I had no love of the man," a voice said, coming up beside the boy. It was Blackfoot. His eyes were focused on the Drumm lord. "Been serving under him for years. You did me a service by taking his head. And for what you did, this ship is yours by Ironborn rights." The boy's eyes went wide at that, making the pirate laugh. "Only problem would be the fifteen of us scum in the way."

Blackfoot put his arm on Willem's shoulders. "I can vouch for you 'til King's Landing, and the men aren't so bothered by you on the ship. In fact, you were the talk of their morning. You're fast with that blade. Faster than any knight we've fought." A tiny smile came to the boy. Years of being in Dorne and running about Godsgrace had seen to that. "Come. I believe you'll take a liking to our armoury."

The two men walked below deck, passing by many of the Ironborn. A few of them dipped their heads at Willem as they walked by. Blackfoot may have said that the ship wasn't his, but if he were able to sway their opinions in his favour... "Here we are." The newly declared captain opened the banded iron door of the armoury, allowing Willem to step through. He didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't what was there. A slap on his back pushed him forward. "Come on boy, look around. Get a feel for everything."

Castle-forged steel plate from the Westerlands and the Reach drew his eyes first. Maille dyed every colour imaginable, dark reds and bright purple. Dornish chain, the links small and tightly drawn, in suits hanging on the wall. Pressed leather, bearing plates of fine, thin steel woven into the shoulders and elbows. Plenty of shields bearing heraldry from the North, the Riverlands, the Reach. Tabards and hauberks made of cloth, bearing even more sigils upon them. Willem spoke. "This isn't an armoury. This is a hoard."

A hearty laugh came from Blackfoot. "Aye, 'tis a hoard. Lots of good stuff in here."

Willem stepped forward, grabbing a helm sat on a table. It was an armet helm, the bevor was forged with it. Light to carry, Willem turned it, admiring the details in the forgery of it. White steel, with red details along the bevor and cheeks. The crest of it silver with even more details. "Perfect," he said, placing it back on the table. Now to find matching plate. The boy looked around, then turned to Blackfoot. "Would've helped if this were arranged in some fashion." The pirate laughed.

"Right. I'll get some men to do just that." Willem smirked, looking through the armour. After a few minutes of moving stuff aside, he found the matching cuirass and vambraces. The white steel was beautifully handled. He also grabbed a suit of dark red-dyed chainmaille. That would be needed under the armour, and it matched his family's colours. Placing it on the table, he took a deep breath before grabbing the leather armour with the steel plates fashioned to it. It was light, and he could wear that more regularly. Willem turned to Blackfoot.

"Do you have clothes?"

The pirate nodded. "Aye, we've clothes that would fit you. Happy with the armour?"

"Almost. Just need - aha." The boy found what he was looking for: black leather gloves and boots, and a few other things. He threw all of it on top of the table, and then turned back to answer the pirate's question. "Very happy. Piracy seems to pay."

Another laugh came from the man. "You're lucky we hadn't sold most of this off. Or dumped it at Wyk. Here, let me help you carry this up to your quarters." The two men grabbed everything and brought it up to Denys' old quarters, Blackfoot commenting on what he'd grabbed every step of the way. As they entered the room, Ser Neville turned to receive them.

"Find what you wanted?" Willem nodded, pleased by the armour. And thankful that he was tall enough for it to fit him. None of the armour would've been of any use if he'd been too young or small. They dumped it on the bed. Blackfoot rubbed his forehead with his arm, clearing the sweat off.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to make sure the men are still working the ship. Check our course." He bowed his head slightly before departing the room. Neville had walked over and was looking through the armour.

"A lot of this is good steel." He grabbed the helm, and looked it over. "Really good steel. This must've belonged to a lord. No knight or man-at-arms could have something so finely crafted. Look at this." The knight turned to Willem. "You've a good eye for quality, my lord."

The boy laughed, and fished out of the armour some other smaller steel pieces. Black vambraces and a simpler cuirass. "These are for you, ser." Willem had noticed that Ser Gardiner's iron armour was dyed black. The man bowed his head, placing the pieces over by his cot. "I want to get some more fresh air. It was stuffy down below deck."

Walking back over, the knight nodded his head. "Of course, my lord. Go, I'll sort this out." Willem smiled and made his way back out the door, stepping into the sun. Hadn't even reached midday. He walked towards the front of the ship, the forecastle, and looked out at the open ocean ahead of them as they sailed south. He had armour, a sworn knight, his family's sword. Soon, he would have this ship. There was plenty of time to see to that. What he needed though, was an army. And lords at his back. He didn't have it now, but he would soon enough.

* * *

**A/N**: There's plenty in store for Willem in the future!

And, I want to go a bit overboard with armour and such cos it's important to understand that this story takes place in what would be the equivalent of the late 15th/early 16th in technology. Far more heavy plate, and heraldry on everything. And well, new weaponry soon enough.

If we look at the ASOIAF story as being somewhat equivalent to the War of the Roses, that's a good gauge for the style of arms and armour. That's one area in which I believe the show lacks quite a bit, many of the characters look rather plain and boring and undergarbed for my taste. Imagine the Mountain, but not in black half-lamellar, half-chainmaille armour as the show puts him, but rather, black steel plate with a great helm, a yellow tabard with the three black dogs of House Clegane. Big and imposing and impenetrable.

Imagine the armour that Willem found looks like Greenwich armour (Check that out on Bing, or Google), only white steel with far more red detail. That's real armour. Not this rubbish that HBO puts together. (Though I will admit some of it looks nice..)

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	13. Bran II

**Bran**

Knocking at his door brought the young Stark boy out of his sleep. Sunlight streamed through the window to his room, keeping his eyes from closing again. More knocking came to the door, this time accompanied by his father's voice. "Bran. Change into something simple and come out to the training yard." He sat up, wondering what he'd be doing. Might as well get to it, he decided, standing up, stretching his arms. He put on a woollen shirt, and pulled on his trousers. With that on, he tied his heavier boots, making sure they were snug against his foot, then pulled on a pair of gloves.

Picking up his hand-mirror, he fixed his hair, moving the strands behind his ears. Bran opened the door to his room, stepped into the corridor and started on his way outside. The halls were crowded, far more than usual. He liked the busyness of it all - the visitors made the lonely castle seem far more lived in than it usually was. The knights walking about the halls, in their liveries of houses far away. The ladies, hair done in styles from the Neck to Dorne, walked about in groups. Squires went about, carrying notes and messages for those they served. All of it was to Bran's utter fascination.

Of course, looking around as he did, he was prone to not pay attention to those in front of him. Combine that with his rushing to the yard outside the keep; he collided with Lady Joanna. "Excuse me!" he squeaked out, holding his arm out to keep her from falling. Robb's betrothed smiled back at the boy.

"No worries Bran. I'm much the same. Clumsy. Lost in my own world." Her smile was sincere, and it made Bran feel better. He couldn't deny the lady's beauty, and poise. Last night at the feast, his brother had made a fool of himself before many of the court. But, what man wouldn't. She was beautiful. Bran took a step back, and bowed.

"Still, I must be off, my lady. Excuse me." The boy continued on his way towards the yard, but now paid more heed to where he was walking. Two guardsmen held the gate open for the young Stark, both bowing their heads slightly, their polished shields held proudly out. And stepping out into the courtyard, the sound of steel filled the air. He found his father stood with Lord-Commander Dayne - the two men watching a duel. Bran pushed himself next to his father.

Lord Stark put his hand on his son's shoulder, and said, "Ser Jaime and Ser Arys. They've been at it for a few minutes now." The two men stood in training hauberks. Neither man was helmed, with Jaime's short wavy hair golden in contrast to the longer brown hair of the Reach man. Jaime all of sudden swiped from the bottom, feigning an attack, quickly bringing the sword in from the side. Arys was no fool though and dodged out of the way. But only just. The Lannister knight pushed his leg forward, catching Ser Arys off balance. He tumbled backwards over his other foot, crashing to the ground, sword flying out.

Arthur laughed. "What, you kept that going 'til Bran could get here?" As Jaime was helping Arys back up to his feet, he turned and spotted the young Stark.

"I might have. Boy needs to see some proper southern knights fighting." It was Eddard's turn to laugh, and Bran grinned at Jaime's retort. It was true; the fighting here was not quite as exciting. The guards kept to simple movements, easier exercises. "So how about it Ned? You and me. The great Northern lord and the humble knight from the Rock."

"Did you bring another Lannister with you?" Ser Arys jokingly said, taking a drink of water from his squire. Jaime laughed, but continued looking to Bran's father. The boy wanted to see his father fight, and when Eddard looked down and saw that face looking back up, he caved.

"Alright. It's been a few years, but I think I can still swing a sword." Bran looked and saw that the Dornish prince had come up to the field. Oberyn was his name, and he seemed like a good man. His brother, Robb, had told him that in his younger years, he had been a tournament fighter, and used poison. The Red Viper, as he quickly became known as, seemed fitting for the man

Rodrik Cassel came over to help his father to help him put the hauberk on, sliding it over the tunic he was wearing. Bran laughed, and his father smiled before shoving him. "What? Do I look that bad?" Rodrik handed his father one of the training swords, steel, but dulled along the edges. Arthur moved closer to the young Stark boy, talking softly.

"You see the way your father grips the sword." The knight pointed, and Bran looked intently, noticing the placement of his father's hand. "Your father may be some years out of practise, but I don't think this fight will be so one-sided. But your father is used to a longer sword, two hands on the hilt. My preferred style as well.

"Ser Jaime, however, is skilled in one-handed sword fighting. He has the advantage with these types of blades."

Almost as if proving the point, the knight of the Kingsguard twirled the blade in his hand, moving towards the centre of the yard. At this point, Bran had noticed more people coming around to watch. His brother Robb as well as the Greyjoy ward and hostage, Theon; and the king's eldest son, Tristaen. Another knight with a sigil Bran didn't recognise. Men-at-arms from the Crownlands, wearing tabards emblazoned with different Targaryen sigils. The single gold dragon of Dragonstone was the most well-known besides the three-headed red dragon. Jaime stopped, and started speaking, holding his left arm up to his eyes. "Perhaps if I fought like this, it would be fair?"

Eddard stopped, bringing the sword up, testing its weight again. He dropped the wooden shield on the ground. What he did next made the man next to Bran laugh. His father tore the cross-guard off, the wood and iron breaking easily. He brought his right hand up higher on the hilt, placing the left below, and grinned. "I think that should fair a bit better." Jaime brought his sword and shield up, moving closer to the Stark lord. And they began.

The Northern lord brought the full weight of the sword down on Jaime first, the sound of the sword beating upon the wooden shield. Reflexively, Jaime stabbed low, hoping to catch Eddard with his sword still high, and unable to move. He did, stepping back and a bit to the left, letting Jaime's thrust sail through the air. Eddard moved forward again, forcing Jaime to pull back quickly. The Stark brought the pommel down on the shield, but this time, Jaime pushed the shield back, forcing Eddard's grip on the sword to lax.

Moving quickly, Jaime stepped to the right, keeping his shield up, letting Eddard take a few steps back to regain a grip on his sword. He brought it up, holding it crossways across his body, keeping eye-contact with Ser Jaime. Arthur talked to Bran again, "So who do you see yourself as? More like Ser Jaime, or like your father?" Bran watched the two men pace in tandem with each other, circling, looking for a weakness. "You're tall, and fast. And your father told me you enjoy climbing."

The younger boy smiled, nodding his head. Watching the two though, he couldn't decide. "Could I not learn both?" he asked the knight.

Arthur laughed, patting him on his back. "You could. It would take as many years to master one, as it would the other. There are men who fight with a two-hander, but use only one hand, forsaking a shield. Using the other hand for balance, or two two-hand when necessary. But that is not all there is. There are men who fight with a short spear," he said as he pointed to the Dornish man on the other side of the yard. "Maces and flails, short swords and daggers. Shields or no shields. It all comes down to preference, and what you want to learn."

Bran thought on the Lord-Commander's words, watching his father and the Lannister continue to circle, Jaime stabbing out with his blade every once in a while. Finding his moment, Eddard brought the sword round for a wide swing, taking a lunge at the younger man. The force of it impacted with Jaime's shield, shattering it. The Lannister fell back, trying to wield his practise sword against the continued barrage. Bran asked the man, "Could he have broken the shield if this were real?"

The Lord-Commander nodded his head, but clarified his point. "He could, if he were using a heavier weapon. A flail or a mace could render a shield useless. A sword though? That would take far more time."

He laughed again, "Wood tends to break far more easily though."

Eddard continued pressing forward, bringing his sword down in a heavy downwards swing. Try as he might, Jaime held his sword up, both hands on his much tinier pommel. The blade of the sword cracked in the attack, and Jaime was forced to concede defeat. "I yield, I yield, Lord Stark." Eddard released the grip on his sword, the wooden blade warped from the last attack.

"Didn't have much left in me." Eddard reached his arm down and helped Jaime up.

A voice called out from crowd. "Was that you going easy?" Jaime looked to see Ser Arys laughing from his own jest. He chucked the hilt of his blade at the knight, chuckling.

"Fuck you, Arys."

Bran had a wide smile on his face, and Arthur was curious as to why, asking the boy, "What?"

The young boy looked up at the older man, and said, "I can't wait 'til we get to King's Landing." Lord-Commander Dayne patted his shoulder, smiling sincerely at the Stark boy.

* * *

**A/N**: As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	14. Arya

**Arya**

With the arrival of the royal procession, Arya had been made to act in a more lady-like manner. Her mother had told her no running, or climbing, or fighting. And she had demanded that Arya dress appropriately for her position in Winterfell. With little else to do, the girl had taken to following people around and listening in on what was happening. Sure, it wasn't so proper, but it didn't involve the guards dragging her in screaming, which made her mother happy.

The most intriguing thing had been something she'd heard from Ser Garlan Tyrell and Lord Tywin Lannister about a border skirmish along the Dornish border. Supposedly, a handful of men-at-arms sworn to House Tyrell engaged with a company of Dornish outriders. Lord Walthes of Ashford's son, Ser Trevor, had been wounded grievously in the attack, with Lord Walthes claiming the Dornish men were at fault. Lord Tywin had told Ser Garlan not to worry, that any diplomatic repercussions would be minor. But all Arya could think was how exciting that sounded.

The Northerners didn't fight. They didn't do anything.

. . .

Arya found herself in one of Winterfell's many winding corridors when a sound pricked her ears. She stopped, listening for it again, and moved closer to the wall. It sounded a bit like whispering, but there was something else about it that she couldn't quite pick up on. The Stark girl moved forward, crouching a bit and nearing the corner. These were storerooms for the kitchens - and Arya expected only to find some butcher talking to the fowl. Moving forward once more, she noticed that one of the doors was creaked open. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she moved towards the door and peeked inside.

The girl's eyes went wide at the sight, and she quickly ducked out of the way, pressing herself against the wall next to the door. From inside the room, the sound stopped, and for a moment, Arya thought she'd been discovered. Instead, one of the voices inside the room talked; it was muffled, but she could tell it was a boy's. "You're beautiful, so beautiful." A giggle came from the other occupant, the one Arya knew, but was quickly replaced by that sound again. Only now, Arya knew what it was. Kissing. Her sister and the crown-prince were together in the storeroom, lips locked together.

"Tristaen... what if someone sees us?" Arya heard Sansa ask, breaking the kiss.

A chuckle came from the boy as he confidently said, "They will think us perfect together." The response made Arya want to laugh, and she had to cover her mouth to stifle the tiny giggles that came out. Luckily, neither of them heard. The girl moved closer to the door, hoping to hear more.

"What if I am promised to another?" her sister said more sullenly.

Arya finally peeked back in to the room, catching a glimpse of the Targaryen, his hand stroking Sansa's hair. "Then I will duel them for your hand, my beautiful dove." The younger Stark girl backed away from the door, falling against the wall. This time, a laugh escaped her, and the tiny sound reverbed off the walls. She quickly went to cover her mouth. Once again, luck was on her side, as she heard the two kissing. But just as a breath was about to leave her lips, the sound of someone speaking loudly cut the silence of the corridor. Arya's eyes went wide at the voice.

"Lady Stark? Excuse me milady, but can I help you with something? Are you hungry?" The servant kept talking, and Arya wanted nothing more than for her to shut up. Her questions brought everything to silence, and Arya could no longer hear the two teens in the storeroom. The servant spoke again, "Milady?"

"No! I'm fine!" Arya said, the panic in her voice was apparent. She heard the faint sounds of someone starting to protest within the storeroom, but it stopped after a moment. Arya started moving away from the door, towards the serving girl. Maybe she could at least see to it that her sister wasn't caught. "Well, actually, could you cut me a slice of bread? I am a bit peckish."

The servant bowed, "Of course milady." Arya followed her to the kitchens, hoping that Sansa and Tristaen would get out and be more careful.

. . .

It had taken the older Stark girl longer than Arya had thought it would, but eventually, she found her. She had Jeyne with her even, making Arya inwardly laugh if that was supposed to intimidate her. The two girls were proper ladies; Arya was more afraid that the ceiling would give way and crush them.

Sansa started speaking, her voice high and trill. "I know that you were spying on me earlier." She left the statement hanging in the air. Jeyne was stood at the door as if Arya was planning on bolting.

"And?" Arya said, looking at her sister with humour in her eyes as she would Septa Mordane after the woman would ask her something stupid.

"What did you hear?" Sansa asked, trying to speak without any break in her voice.

The younger girl didn't say anything, instead choosing to make a kissy face at Sansa. A shill scream came from the girl. "ARYA! You insufferable little-"

"Yes?" The girl said, interjecting in, looking up at her sister, taking a bite of bread. Arya couldn't help but torment her sister, enjoying the angry look on her face having grown up. That was, until she saw another look in Sansa's eyes. Something not so common, even if she were a lady. Fear. "Sansa?"

Her sister looked at her, anger was back in her voice. "What? You hate me enough. Why-"

Arya cut in again. "I don't hate you, Sansa. Your secret is safe with me, I promise." A few moments passed before Sansa sat down at the table, opposite her sister.

"Thank you," Sansa said. "And thank you for helping us earlier. Tristaen and I would've been caught by Ylda if it weren't for you." A tiny smile came to Sansa's face. "You know, if you did a bit to your hair, and didn't run around in the dirt... you would look pretty."

Arya burst out laughing, falling backwards out of the chair with a crash. Picking herself up, she looked at the smirk still on Sansa's face. "Whatever you say, sis." As the words left her, she did think for a moment. Maybe letting her sister help her with that would be nice.

"I'm serious! When we get to the capital, let me help you out. The three of us Northern girls will have to stick together. Show the south that we can play their game." Sansa looked smug saying that, and Arya started laughing again, with Jeyne joining in. As much as the younger Stark girl liked to see her sister angry, it was also good to see her happy.

"Alright, maybe my hair. Maybe."

With a smug grin still on Sansa's face, she said, "It's a start."

* * *

**A/N**: A bit of romance between cousins having only just met? Sounds good to me lol

_jafcbutterfly_: No Robb chapters. Plenty of POVs will revolve around him, such as Joanna, Theon, and one other major character!

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	15. Eddard II

**Eddard**

Steam rose from the pool in the Godswood; its waters were calm and clear. Eddard sat at the base of the base of the Weirwood, stretching his legs out. As much as he would love to say the duel hadn't worn him out - it had. If it hadn't been for Jaime being slightly fatigued out from fighting Ser Arys, he wasn't sure that he'd have stood quite as good a chance. Even with the little trick he'd pulled, breaking the hilt off the sword, it had proven a challenging fight. He chuckled.

"It's a good thing we're not fighting any wars," the Lord of Winterfell said to the peaceful quietness of the Godswood. Closing his eyes, expecting naught but the breeze, a voice answered him, and he turned to see that it was his sister.

"Not yet, at least." The words left her mouth with humour. Lyanna looked beautiful, unchanged in her face from the many years she had spent in the south. And walking over towards him, it was like no time had passed at all. Eddard smiled at her, beckoning over to the tree, offering his hand to help her sit.

"We've lost too much to war." The man looked down, remembering when he and his brothers, Brandon and Benjen, would run through here. His father calling on them all - or joining in, the four of them play-fighting. Only Benjen was left, and he was a man of the watch, far away from here. Lyanna's hand grabbed at his chin, forcing him to look at her.

She spoke with a soothing voice, "What happened to Brandon. And Rickard. None of it is your fault." But then she herself looked away. "Brandon rode to the capital for me. Demanded that Rhaegar release me. And I wasn't even there. Aerys imprisoned him, and father - murdered them. And I wasn't even there." Eddard heard a sniffle come from the woman, and put his arms around her.

"No, no, sweet sister." He drew her in, hugging her. She cried softly into his shoulder.

Muffled against his tunic, she spoke, tears still streaming. "They'd be here if it weren't for me."

Eddard stroked the back of her hair, trying to calm her down. "You did nothing. It was Aerys. The Mad King. Not you. Not Rhaegar. Your husband and I fought a war together. Vengeance for what he did to our family." He heard her sniffle some more, and kept rubbing her back. A few moments passed before she stopped crying, letting herself breath in.

"I hope that you two never have to fight a war together. How could I live if something happened to you, or Rhaegar?" A few more tears silently fell from her face, and Eddard could hardly bear seeing her like this. As he was about to reply, he looked up to see the very man she was speaking of walk in, Ser Whent at his back. The Stark man stood, bowing his head.

"Your Godswood is as I remember it." Rhaegar looked around, as if taking in the very same memories that Eddard had just relived in his mind. "No better place than here. In sight of the Old Gods of the North. Lord Eddard Stark, I bestow upon you the title of Hand of the King. To rule at my side, and help me keep this damned realm from falling apart." Eddard looked to Lyanna, seeing the genuine smile on her face, and bowed before the king.

"I am honoured, your grace-"

Rhaegar grabbed his shoulder, "Stand up, Ned. No need for such formality between friends. I accept your oath." Eddard bowed his head slightly, before grinning at the king.

"Bran would kill me if I denied him an opportunity to go south." He heard a scoff come from the woman sitting next to them. "And of course, you, sweet sister. Going south to see you happy as well."

A smile came to her lips as she slanted her head at him. "Much better."

The king spoke, laughing. "Almost had forgotten! I heard you bested Ser Jaime in a duel this morning." Eddard heard a snicker come from Ser Whent, rather loud in the quiet Godswood. Rhaegar turned back to his knight of the Kingsguard.

Ser Whent bowed his head, the smile still playing on his lips. "Apologies, your grace. It's only, the cockiest knight alive bested in a duel." The knight laughed now, and Rhaegar seemed far more amused than anything else.

"Now, Ser Whent, let's be fair to Ser Jaime. It's rather cold up here, perhaps his arms were simply too cold to properly fight."

"Or perhaps my brother is not so bad a fighter as he would let on," Lyanna said, smirking. Eddard had to laugh at that.

"I can barely move my arms and legs right now as is. My days of duels and tourneys are long over."

The knight, still snickering, had to ask. "I take it that means we won't be treated to a joust between you and Ser Jaime when we're back to King's Landing. I was hoping for a repeat performance."

Eddard smiled, but inwardly sighed. He had not thought that of course the king planned on making his appointment some great matter of the realm. Tourneys and festivals - well, Bran would enjoy them. And Sansa as well, for all of the knights that would be coming. And he even supposed that Arya would enjoy it, the fighting ring; that's where she would be. "I will not be jousting in the tourney Ser Whent."

Rhaegar put his hand on Eddard's shoulder, a feigned frown on his face. "Not even once down the field with me? A friendly little joust once the winner's been crowned. The crowd would love it, and just imagine it Ned. The dragon and the direwolf." A king of the people; that was one way to describe the Targaryen. He loved these events, competing in them from the earliest he was allowed to enter. It was the tourney at Harrenhal that had seen Rhaegar and his sister together, even if the king had lost then to his Lord-Commander, Ser Arthur Dayne.

"We'll see, Rhaegar. If I'm not too sore from riding a horse down to the capital, then maybe we can do that."

* * *

**A/N**: As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	16. Jorah II

**Jorah**

"It shouldn't be too much further," the hooded ranger said. His name was Halt, and he was everything Jorah imagined the rangers to be. A longbow was resting on his back, along with a quiver of arrows the knight had to imagine he'd crafted himself. At his waist a longsword was sheathed. He wasn't very tall, and sat low on his horse. But at the same time, Jorah could hardly hear him. Robaire's horse was loud, trudging through the snow - crunching a branch or twig every step of the way. Halt's seemed to be walking on top of the debris on the ground.

Behind Halt and the two knights, two other rangers followed. They didn't seem nearly as seasoned as Halt, though still, they were rangers, and brothers, of the watch. They'd been beyond this Wall more than anyone in all the Seven Kingdoms. Jorah could take one look around and know that he would not want to be caught out here alone. His father had told him that one of his rangers had come back and reported on dead groups of Wildlings. Halt had reassured them both, Jorah and Robaire, before leaving that those reports came from much further to the North. But still, the thought that something out there was wiping out Wildlings left him uneasy.

Halt broke the silence again as they had neared the tall Weirwood. "Hopefully, neither of you two think that this will be easy. The Night's Watch have defended the realm against all manner of beasts and worse for thousands of years. And now, the two of you will take your oaths." He brought his horse to a stop, holding his arm up, the other four stopping with it.

Jorah had never seen a Weirwood tree quite so large, and was taken aback by it. The bark was whiter than any he had seen to the south - giving it a most skeletal feel. The red sap ran along it, as veins of blood wood a person. And carved upon it, the face looked at them. Jorah felt that it was judging them as they dismounted. "Kneel as men."

Both Robaire and Jorah went to their knees before the tree as a light amount of snow began to fall. Looking to the younger man next to him, Jorah nodded his head. He saw the boy gulp, allowing him to breath before they both started together.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife-" Jorah stopped for a moment. A picture of Lynesse came to his mind, her long blonde hair that had shone so brightly in the south. That he could still remember on his lips. Robaire had continued but stopped as well. He looked at the boy, nodding again.

"I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realm of men.

"I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

Jorah could see the smile on the younger man's lips. He felt a hand on his shoulder, hearing Halt's voice. "And stand as brothers of the Night's Watch." The two men stood up, and turned to the cheers of the three rangers. Wix, the younger of the rangers, went over and messed up Robaire's hair, both of them laughing. The feeling of jubilation was infectious, and Jorah couldn't help but feel like this was a start to something purposeful in his life. Halt came over. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Many of our brothers come from much worse pasts. There is no shame in loving a woman. And you even made sure she could get back to Hightower. I could use a man like you on my ranging from time-to-time." He patted Jorah's shoulder, and they climbed back on their horses.

. . .

Arriving at the gate, the familiar sound of the horn blowing for them returning sounded, but the group was surprised to find Benjen Stark leaving. The first ranger was well-liked by the Night's Watch, a man whom was always ready to help no matter your rank or stature. And was most times in good humour. "I take it I can call the two of you brothers now?" the Stark started, a smile playing on his lips. Jorah grinned, but the younger knight next to him was ecstatic.

"Yes! We've taken our vows!" Robaire caused his horse to rear with the amount of excitement in his voice. A hearty laugh came from Benjen.

"Before a Weirwood tree no less!" The ranger shook his head at the excitement of the young knight, and continued, "It's good to have you here. Not just you two, but all five of you. Good men."

However, Benjen said that with some sense of finality. He had two bundles tied to his horse, and Jorah imagined they were supplies for a campsite, or extra provisions. Whatever they were, he looked ready to be out there for at least a month, if not longer. Halt was quick to notice, asking about it.

"Off on another ranging already? You must have only just returned."

Benjen laughed it off, winking at the ranger. "That's why I'm first ranger, Halt! Have to be ready to fight off all manner of beasts beyond the Wall."

The hooded ranger laughed, a sound that didn't seem too natural. Jorah had to cut in, and ask about the king. "I take it Winterfell was fine. No problems?"

With a shake of his head, he replied, "It was good to see my sister after so many years. But by now, the King, with Eddard in tow, should be well on their way to King's Landing."

"I don't envy the man in the slightest," the other ranger, Garrett, in the group said. Jorah had learned he'd grown up in Lannisport, making his way north after his little brother had found himself squired to a Lannister knight. "Lies and deceit. That's all he'll find in the south. Lord Eddard is a noble man. A good man."

Benjen rode his horse forward, leaving them with one last reply, patting Garrett on the shoulder. "Perhaps that's what the realm needs right now. One good man in the capital."

He didn't hear the ranger's sullen reply though. "Good men find themselves dead in the capital."

Halt called out after the first ranger. "Be careful out there Benjen! There's worse than wildlings out there!"

The figure riding in the distance waved it off, raising his sword up. "Cheeky cunt," Jorah heard Halt say, a tiny harsh laugh following. He watched the man leave, passing into the tree-line and finally out of sight entirely. Robaire called to him from inside the tunnel, "Jorah! C'mon! Unless of course if you plan on going with him!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Still, the knight's eyes were focused on the trees. If the Others were truly out there... Benjen was first ranger; he, of everyone in Castle Black, knew what to do. Jorah turned his horse towards the tunnel, disappearing into the carved out ice of the Wall.

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, this is a bit of a lengthy A/N, but there's a bit to say! I may be a bit too ambitious, but I have a point in my notes at which I want to cut this story off. It's not for a long while, but, this is only part 1 of _**A Song of Three Dragons**_. Think on the different connotations of _A Cat of a Different Coat_, especially in relation to my three dragons, and you may very well guess where this is going.

Also, surprise cameo (might be recurring) in this chapter from a certain character from a series of books I greatly enjoyed when I was a bit younger. Think he would make an excellent ranger in the Night's Watch :D

_ impthetargaryen_: I have a certain fondness for House Reyne, and have fashioned together a reasonable backstory, with a bit of help, for how his father, Reynard Reyne, escaped Castamere all those years ago. So plenty to discuss there. And I definitely plan on adding on to the _Rains of Castamere._ Willem's story will see things change in Westeros. But not for a while. And for the Eddard chapter, things are quite different, but, well, you'll see. The realm is mostly stable, politically and economically. _For now._

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	17. Ezra II

**Ezra**

Much to Ser Ezra's annoyance, Lord Renly wanted to leave for the capital as late as possible it had seemed. He'd gone to bed nearly an hour ago, leaving the Braavosi to his own devices within the keep. He went to the study, diving his head into a history tome written by a maester of the Citadel, Hewbert, nearly a century ago. If there was one thing the foreign knight loved, it was reading. All sorts of things. Reading kept his mind busy and practised.

It was also storming outside, the flashes of lightning became distracting in the small little study so Ezra decided to take the book to the great hall. Plenty of space and the lighting was better in the hall anyway. The man gathered the book and made his way down the corridor, walking down a winding staircase. Banners bearing the black stag of House Baratheon on a yellow field stood on alternating sides of the great hall, the flagstone heavy and light. Sitting himself at the table, he was about to open the book when a large bang came from the door. Looking up, he saw the soldier stepping through. Quickly, Ezra made his way over to them.

"My lord!" the Baratheon man-at-arms said, bowing his head low. Ezra thought it best not to remind the man that he wasn't a lord. Anyway, the man wouldn't have listened - he seemed to be in a panic, holding the heavy oaken door open for another man. Rain was pouring in behind him as he came in holding a chest. Ezra's interest was piqued. "Hurry!" he said to the chest-bearer. "This chest needs to get to Lord Baratheon immediately!"

"He's asleep," Ezra said calmly, holding his hands up. "Relax men, I'll go wake him." The Braavosi left the two man-at-arms in the great hall, heading for Renly's room within the keep. Something had the two of them spooked and Ezra was curious as to what it was. Stepping up to the door, the man stopped and put his ear to it. He heard light snoring from the other side. That meant the two men were indeed asleep, and not engaged in something a bit more, well, frivolous for the Braavosi knight.

Ezra knocked lightly on the door at first. There was no movement within the room. He knocked a bit more loudly and heard something crash. A few moments passed, and a mostly unclothed Renly opened the door. "Do you know what time it is friend?" The lord chuckled, his demeanour a bit brighter. "Of course, you're still clothed at this hour of the night. What is it?"

"There's something in the great hall for you," said Ezra.

The Baratheon looked back at him with rolled eyes. "And I need see to it now."

"The men who brought it in were pale. Whomever gave it to them instructed them to give it to you immediately." The Braavosi stepped back from the door, trying to rush Renly.

"Very well, let me just change into something a bit more becoming." Renly stepped back into the room, and Ezra heard the Tyrell knight inside ask what was keeping him away from the bed. A few more moments passed before the both of them came from the room. As if to further put Ezra at odds for waking them, Loras had his arm around Renly, putting his head on the older man's shoulder.

The three of them quickly made their way to the great hall, Loras putting himself at arm's length away from Renly when they were within view of the men-at-arms. Lord Renly was about to address the two men when a yawn escaped his throat instead. He waved them off, and the two men left the chest sat on the long table in the centre of the hall.

A letter was laid on top of it; the seal not broken. Ezra picked it up to hand to the Baratheon. The man stopped him, shaking his head and said, "Read it. Might be something serious for once." A wink accompanied the statement and Ezra found himself grinning. As infuriating as his lord was, the man could make any situation seem far easier to get through. The Braavosi broke the seal; a key spilled out into his hands, and he began to read the contents.

"To Renly of the House Baratheon, last in line to Orys of the Houses Targaryen and Baratheon, base-born brother of Aegon the Conqueror, I give unto you your birth right. You are descended from the noble blood of Old Valyria. Take what is yours by right."

He read over the letter again, making sure nothing had been missed. "That's all. No signature." Ezra turned it over, continuing, "I don't recognise the seal either." He handed the key and the letter to Renly, who was now sitting in a chair at the head of the table, with the chest before him. Renly took the letter but handed Ezra back the key.

"Open it. Seven hells be damned, open it," he said, his eyes now reading the letter. The Braavosi stuck the key into the chest, looking up at the two men before him. Both Renly and Loras were watching with an anxious expression on their face. He turned the key slowly, hearing the locking mechanism at work. There was a snap as it unlocked, the sound culminating with a deep rumble of thunder from outside.

Ezra lifted the lid of the chest. He half expected something to explode, or some bright flash of light. Something. Instead, it was an object of some kind. Ezra touched it; the cold rough ovular object felt like a stone. Renly stood up next to him, looking at the contents of the chest. Loras stood up as well, looking over Renly's shoulder.

"A stone?" Loras asked, the tired look on his face was obvious. "Some great and powerful lord from far away sent you a mystical stone?" Ezra didn't laugh, partly because he agreed with the Tyrell. It looked nothing more than a stone, or a rock. But, there was something else about it, something he couldn't quite place.

Renly swallowed in his throat, running his hand along the ridge of the object. "This is no stone my friends." He put his palm to it, a few moments passed before he closed the lid quickly. Ezra had never seen the Baratheon's eyes so hard before. They made him look far beyond his years. "Descended from Orys. From Old Valyria itself. This is an egg. A dragon egg."

"Impossible," Loras said, scoffing uneasily. "Dragons have been dead for hundreds of years. How would an egg have found its way to you here?"

"Whomever this mysterious patron is comes from far away," Ezra started. "Perhaps dragon eggs are not as lost as we thought."

Renly, however, sat down, shaking his head. "Take what is mine by right? Take what?"

The Braavosi and the Tyrell both sat at the table beside him. It was Loras who spoke first. "Think on what Rhaegar did to your brother. What Eddard had done to Robert, his dearest friend. Perhaps now is the time for vengeance. Push your claim on the throne, and the people will follow you."

Ezra had to intervene. "That's all well Loras, but this is only an egg. Maybe not even that. What would you have Renly do? Announce that he has a dragon? Raise his banners against a Targaryen king? We'd be cast off as fools." He looked directly to the dark-haired man sat thinking. "Besides, Rhaegar has done nothing to you Renly. You've no reason to attack him. To divide this realm."

Nodding his head, Renly looked at Lora with worry in his eyes. "He's right. I'll keep it away. We'll not discuss it." He smiled at the younger man, and said, "Come to bed, love. That's enough conspiring for me." Renly stood and locked the chest. He handed Ezra the key. "Take care of this. I'm trusting it to you."

"Of course, Renly."

He watched as the two men walked away, then turned his head to the chest. One last time, he opened it to look at the "thing" inside, placing his hand on it. _Thump_. It was light, very light, just barely there, but the Braavosi felt it, yanking his hand back and looking back at the stairs leading up to Renly's chambers. That's why he'd removed his hand so quickly. This was a dragon. A living dragon.

* * *

**A/N**: Well, well, well. Maybe a bit of a premature jump, but alas, here we are.

_imp_: haha, alright Imp, I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! Feels good to get your reviews :) and believe me, I'm trying to get to King's Landing quickly. Baelish isn't there though. I have other plans for him, and they're rather... I know I keep saying it, but, you'll just have to wait and see ;p

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	18. Eddard III

**Eddard**

Lord Eddard Stark was amazed by the state of the Riverlands; his eyes were looking at yet another rotting cottage - they had passed by nearly a dozen of these abandoned farm estates. The few farmers they did see, had wagons laden with old wheat and barley. And the men - a look on their faces that made Eddard uncomfortable. Their eyes were filled with worry, and fear. Eddard was about to speak, though quickly stopped as Rhaegar began speaking.

"The North is prosperous. Your people are strong-willed, and give much to the realm. The Riverlands have never been so fortunate, and Lord Hoster's death has seen them lost even more in the last year. Various lords are vying for control of these lands," the king said, not breaking his front-facing gaze.

"What of Edmure? He was Hoster's son. How can they dispute that?" Eddard hadn't met the man, but Catelyn was a Tully, and by stretch, that made their affairs important to the Stark. He'd heard nothing to the effect; no ravens had come from Riverrun bearing anything other than the news of Lord Hoster's passing.

The king shook his head. "It's power, my friend. With Hoster's death, the Vale has refused to acknowledge Edmure as lord-paramount. You recall what happened when House Arryn died off." Eddard looked down. He had seen to that personally at the Trident when he killed Jon Arryn.

"Lord Nestor, and the rest of House Royce... I awarded them regency due to the influence they possess in the Vale. And he's kept his liege-lords in check," Rhaegar said, stopping his horse. The rest of the company stopped as well, and the king turned to the lord. "What would you have me do, Eddard?"

"You're the king. Your authority is absolute." A laugh, harsh-sounding, came from the king.

"My father," Rhaegar practically cursed as he said it, "saw to it the Targaryen name was ruined. I don't know what holds this realm together. You and the few lords in the Seven Kingdoms who have a sense of loyalty and duty and honour? I've put you on this council to help me fix this problem."

Rhaegar turned his horse back, and they started moving again. "We'll discuss it more once we reach Harroway. Lord Roote has offered his hall in his generosity." Eddard had to hold in a laugh. If this lord's keep was anything like he had seen in the Riverlands; there wasn't much to expect of it.

. . .

The city of Harroway, if it could even be called a city, was awash with soldiers and peasants. The two-headed horse of House Roote flew proudly on the many banners and flags strewn about, and the soldiers donned tabards of dark and light green verts. Market stalls were set up for all sorts of foodstuffs. But the air reeked of poor sanitation. This place may not fair so badly as the tinier hamlets, but it was no city of prosper.

Many of the lesser folk bowed as the Targaryen banners were sighted entering the square. Eddard had to give it to Rhaegar - his black clad men-at-arms were an imposing sight.

But they all rode on through, passing into the walled yard of Lord Roote's keep. After they had all passed through, the oaken gates closed behind them. A lord walked down the steps from the only standing stone structure with his gait rough. He wore a simple tunic of green and bowed before the king as he dismounted. "Your grace," the lord started, outstretching his arms, "my hospitality is yours for as long as you need. Your men can set up out here; my house servants will see to your women and children."

"Thank you, Lord Rollo. Your loyalty will not go unnoticed." Rhaegar bowed to the lord before helping Lyanna down from the carriage. She took her children and Eddard's daughters inside the keep. Bran followed Lord-Commander Dayne and Ser Jaime like a shadow. Lord Tywin also followed them into the hall, but he was in conversation with Ser Whent. Lord Roote walked over to the Stark, still heavy in his steps.

Eddard finally got a good look at the man, and he saw the years in his eyes. Lord Roote bowed to him, "My Lord Stark - it has been some years since we last met."

A laugh came from him, and he walked forward, putting his arm out. "I fought beside you and Lord Hoster at Darry all those years ago."

"Ah yes, now I recall your sigil," Eddard replied, taking his arm with a shake and a smile. "Your knights made up many in the van. They fought well." Looking around, he wasn't sure if he would've recognised that fact. The men now had iron chain maille, rusted and old in disuse. Those that had plate had it sparingly. Lord Rollo noticed Eddard's passing gaze at the yard.

The northern lord heard the man sigh. "Yes, that was years ago. Now... you can see for yourself. Many of those men settled down, or left for better places in the kingdoms. Richer places. I give the people of my holdfast protection. Try to give them food." Rollo looked down before looking up, waving his hand as if dismissing every problem in the world. "I'm just an old lord who complains. Please, come inside and get comfortable. You must have been on the road for some time."

Eddard followed the man inside the keep. It seemed the local style was dilapidation. The stone was chipped in many places; the grey brick muddy without cleaning given to it. Rugs were laid on the floor, but they also seemed to have last been taken care of some time ago. Two plate-clad men-at-arms stood flanking the entrance to what Eddard assumed to be the great hall. They might as well have been the only vestiges of better times - their plate shining in the torchlight; the halberds in their hands looked fearsome.

A man walked towards the two. He looked young; the trimmed beard and soft look to his eyes clashed with the barbaric nature of the corridor. "Lord Stark," Rollo started as the other man bowed, "may I introduce to you my sole son and heir, Peter." This was the man who would inherit this mess of a holdfast. Eddard felt a bit of pity for the man.

"It's good to meet you, my lord. Your name is one of great honour and respect here," Peter said, excitement in his eyes. Eddard was curious as to that. As though the boy has read his mind, he continued, "The people here have not forgotten that it was you who protected us from the Vale." The northerner had to stifle a laugh; this boy was hardly old enough to have been alive, much less know of what had happened during the war. "But, if you'll excuse me, I must be off." He bowed again, and left their presence.

"I apologise for him, my lord." Rollo began walking, and Eddard kept pace easily.

"For what?"

"I'm not so stupid as to not know that Lord Jon, and Robert Baratheon, were both good friends of yours. The war turned many good friends against one another." Rollo sighed before continuing. "My son is right though. And now with Lord Hoster passed on - my allegiance is still to House Tully. But I cannot lie and say that many have not shared their thoughts on a new house to lead the Riverlands. Some have said we should simply submit ourselves to the North. To you, my lord."

Now Eddard had to laugh, and said, "You honour me and my house too much, Lord Roote." A part of Eddard wished he had talked more with Ser Brynden before coming south. He had agreed to stay at Winterfell and protect Cat, but this was madness the lord before him was spouting. "My wife is of Tully. I would not see these lands torn apart in civil war. Is Lord Edmure truly so bad a lord?"

"Not at all, my lord. But he's young."

"My son, Robb, is even younger. And he will be Lord of Winterfell while I am away," Eddard said, perhaps a bit harshly. But he needed Lord Roote to see reason.

Instead, the lord smiled. "Edmure is Lord-Paramount. Your son is not, and it will be years before your son is, if the Gods are good. There are responsibilities, and these lands are not as well unified as the North. But as I have said, my loyalty is to House Tully. And to you, my lord.

"Now, you will find these to be your quarters," he said, holding his hand out before the door. "I invite you to supper tonight. Excuse me."

Rollo bowed, and walked away limping. Eddard watched, confused as to the lord's last message. And not for the first time on this journey did Lord Stark find himself worried about coming south.

* * *

**A/N**: So, things in the Riverlands aren't quite as peaceful. And now, we're treading on more AU. Apologies for this coming out a bit later than I wanted, and not be so super exciting (especially after a dragon egg last chapter!). But, I have a bunch of later chapters written. Just working on these ones before we get to King's Landing.

_jezzie24_: I'll be getting to something direwolf related in either the next chapter, or the chapter afterwards. Going to be quite different from the novels though (already, no-one going south will get one... yet). And you are correct, there is no Tyrion in my AU. He died along with Joanna during childbirth. Gives a bit more humanity to the Cersei in my story. And makes her the sole heir to Casterly Rock. So happy to see that you are loving the story! :D

_IllyriaMaslan_: You're practically a co-writer at this point! And I'm trying to update often! Always great to get your messages. :)

_Imp_: Same with you! :) Happy that you're all enjoying this a lot. You'll have to wait and see though for Baelish; not giving any hints. Oh, and I rather than adding a verse or so to the _Rains,_ I kinda remastered it entirely to fit Willem coming back. And I do really think you're going to love how I weave it into the story. Already wrote the chapter! Now we just have to get to it!

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	19. Willem III

**Willem**

Willem spent most of his mornings breaking fast with the crew. And so far, he'd learned the Fyne and Orell were the two best fighters on the ship. Squab was the cook. And Loyre manned the ship's wheel. Fyne wasn't an Ironborn - he was from the Riverlands. He used to be a knight under the banner of House Tully. And he spent many nights telling Willem of his time fighting in the war against Robert. At the Battle of Darry, he'd proven his valour and courage to Eddard Stark when he stood his ground against those winged knights of the Vale.

But he was old now, and wanted to live out his days travelling the world. And serving on this ship was the easiest way to attain that. He had no respect for Denys, and he'd made sure Willem knew that. As for Willem, one of the younger men on-board had come to fetch him from the mess hall to bring him back to quarters. When he arrived, he found his sworn-sword Ser Neville Gardiner fishing around for something in a pile of parchments. "Now there you are," he exclaimed, grabbing one of the larger sheets.

Ser Gardiner laid the map out on the table, bringing a quill and ink along with it. Willem walked over, getting a good look at the rather nice map of Westeros. He had to ask the knight where he got it, "Where'd you find this?"

"Denys had a rather nice collection of these maps. And seeing as he won't be needing them. I think we can use them in his stead." Willem nodded, looking down towards the lower seas of the kingdoms. "We should be around here." The knight pointed east of the Arbour.

The Reyne had a look of impressment on his face as he said, "These Ironborn know how to sail. We've made excellent time to King's Landing. But, I'll be asking Blackfoot if we could cut across the Narrow Sea to Myr first."

"And why would you need to go there, my lord?"

"You'll find out once we're there," Willem answered before continuing, "Now, what did you want to discuss?"

"The Westerlands. What lords and houses we can trust or look to for help." Willem sat down, shaking his head at the prospect. Neville had a lot more faith in the nobility of the realm than he did. He noticed Willem's reacting and sat down as well. "My lord, trust me when I say that you will have friends here. The Lannisters are not a house beloved by many, much less the people. Challenge Tywin's rule, and you will garner support.

"Regardless, let's start with the north. The Crag. House Westerling. Now they-"

"Are a poor house with nothing but honour," Willem cut in, interrupting the knight. "What they bring to me? A handful of men-at-arms? A knight, or two?"

Neville was a patient man though, and allowed Willem to finish the little outburst before continuing, "That's more than nothing. Gawen is an honourable man-"

"His family let mine die," the Reyne lord said, tightening his lips. "My family's hall was not so far away, and his family let Tywin march the Lannister army through unimpeded. Go on to the next house, the Marbrands of Ashemark, correct?"

"Aye my lord, Lord Damon Marbrand. A good man I've heard."

"A good man who allowed Tywin to murder House Tarbeck. My family's strongest friend and ally."

Willem remembered how his father would tell tales of the power of House Reyne and Tarbeck. Together, the strongest houses in the West. And yet, betrayed by the very lords that they married with. Power is everything, his father had confided in him in the end. Honour means nothing when an assassin is at the door, or when a monster is pillaging their way across your holdfast. "Tell me this Ser Gardiner. What houses do you honestly think would raise their banner against House Lannister?"

"Lord Farman. He's threatened to raise his banners before. He would raise them if a Reyne returned to the Westerlands. And Ser Lymond of House Vikary. Tales tell that he is descended from your house, my lord. He'd bend the knee to you."

Ser Gardiner patiently held the quill over the map, awaiting a response from Willem. The lord nodded, watching as the knight began circling locations on the map. But even with only those two houses marked on the map, it was starting to look a lot more feasible. "What of House Lefford? He controls the east. If he sided, that would severly diminish the Lannister's path of trade."

"Aye, they do. But it's hard to guess any one lord's disposition. Until you actually reveal yourself, we can't count on neutrally placed houses in the West."

"What of outside of Tywin's control? What of the King, Rhaegar? Or the Riverlands?" the boy said, unleashing the salvo of questions at the knight. He held his hand up, pressing it against Willem's shoulder.

"One at a time, my lord. One at a time. With the Riverlands, it's not so simple as asking for the assistance of House Piper or Mallister. They face internal problems of their own. We cannot look to the other realms for much suppport. As for King Rhaegar. If you could receive an authentication of legitimacy; that will raise far more support for your claim on Castamere."

"Not only Castamere," Willem started, standing up and getting a better look over the map. "I am not stopping until all of the West bends the knee to me. Until Tywin's head is separated from his shoulder. And his family lay dead in the halls of Casterly Rock."

"We take this one step at a time, my lord. Once we reach the capital, what is your plan then? Demand an audience with King Rhaegar? Declare yourself as Lord Willem, son of Reynard, rightful lord of Castamere? Challenge Lord Tywin to a duel in the eyes of the gods?"

Willem did not enjoy the sarcasm in his knight's voice, but the man was right. He didn't have many options and hadn't thought nearly that far ahead. "We're going to Myr for now. Let's focus on that. Once we reach King's Landing, we can discuss our course of action more clearly. Who knows, perhaps there will be a tourney. And if I were to win that. Well, could you imagine the influence that would garner?"

"So it's a horse then, my lord. That's why we're going to Myr."

"Yes, I need horse. And something else. Like I told you, it's a surprise."

. . .

"Myr, my lord? You expect me to sail on to Myr, after I gave you a very generous proposal to which you agreed upon," Blackfoot asked, looking up from his own navigational charts.

Willem stood his ground however, his hand upon the hilt of the Valyrian blade at his waist. "I have discussed it with your crew. Many see no issue in stopping in Myr for a few days before travelling north to King's Landing."

The captain smiled at Willem, sitting down in his chair. "You want this ship."

"Your men are your men, ser."

"Yet you would ask that I swear myself to you, Lord Reyne?" Willem had suspected that this conversation would lead to this, and his grip tightened around the sword as a result.

He took a step forward towards the table, laying his gloved hands on it. "Yes, Blackfoot. I would ask for your allegiance. I cannot promise you much now. But when I take the West, you will get more than you could ever have imagined."

"I can imagine a lot more than you think, my lord," the pirate started. "But it's either serve you. Or stake out on my own with this motley crew of scallywags and scoundrels."

He stood up and held his hand out over the table. "Swearing fealty sounds too proper for my tastes. What say you to a simple agreement between two men with a dislike of the current state of affairs in the Westerlands?"

"Agreed," Willem said, taking the hand. "Now, about Myr?"

Blackfoot waved him off, laughing, "Go on and tell Loyre. I'm sure he's one of the men who agreed to it beforehand anyway."

"You do know your crew, ser."

Willem left the cabin, stepping outside. The ship was his. He wanted to say that it had been too easy - these men were easily malleable and the captain had some existing poor disposition towards Tywin Lannister. Little stood in his way of reaching King's Landing. But first, the free city of Myr. He'd read tales of old of how the Starks in the North kept direwolves with them. A projection of power, but also a means of protection. Myr is where he would find his direwolf so-to-speak.

* * *

**A/N**: I apologise for being a bit late in posting this. Plenty of ideas in my head but writing them is much harder than you might imagine!

_Frozen862_: Hope you keep loving it in the future!

_Imp_: You got my PM, but I do have to add on. This isn't quite the next badarsery part I had in mind. That will be the next Willem chapter, where I do plan on having him brush with another one of my POVs, and getting a new companion that you probably could guess pretty easily.

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	20. Joanna III

**Joanna**

Clouds had rolled in from the east, cooling the halls of Winterfell. Joanna had heard from one of the guards that it was going to rain, but she wasn't so sure. They were only a few clouds, and she wanted to go riding. Be free from the confines of Winterfell, even if it were only for a few hours.

It may have only been a week since her mother left with the rest of the King's company south. But luckily for her sanity, her father Oberyn had stayed behind. To make sure she would acclimate, as her mother put it. Or to liberate her, as he had put it. Always put a smile on her face to imagine the two of them doing that with a company of Stark men-at-arms on their tails, riding back away from all the pressures of the North.

Joanna stopped, staring back towards the great hall where Robb was holding court. No, she wouldn't run away from him. After the feast on the night they arrived in Winterfell, she'd taken a likeness to the eldest of the Stark children. He had confessed to her how beautiful she was in passing that evening, and those grey eyes had only looked down at his feet the entire time. And since then, she never failed to talk to him when he wasn't busy in matters of importance. Robb was sweet and charming, and the way he laughed made Joanna's heart sing. That was not something she imagined would have ever happened, but the Stark man had seen to it that she was fully enchanted by him.

Today, Joanna was going to explore the Wolfswood. She'd promised Rickon that they would, and the youngest Stark didn't seem like the sort to take kindly to broken promises. And she found him fun to be with, especially with his little crush on her. He'd even told Robb that if he didn't want to be wed to her that he would when he was old enough. Though that was a secret between her and her betrothed.

"Lady Joanna," her personal guard, Ser Trevor, started as he walked up to the blonde-haired woman. "Your horse is ready in the stables."

"And Rickon?"

"He's already there," Ser Trevor answered, following her from behind. Even in the North, he hadn't changed a single thing about himself. Joanna had taken to wearing a heavier coat when she went out. Furs were commonplace, and she enjoyed the feel of them around her neck and arms, keeping her warm. Right now though, she was dressed down a bit, wearing leather riding trousers. And a more simple tunic. She'd asked her servant to put her hair up, and an hour later after much protest from the girl, it was done. "You look lovely today, my lady."

Joanna stopped, and wanted to laugh. Intentional or not, the knight was sweet, and she loved to tease him. She turned around and said, "So my arse looks nice today, Trevor?"

"That's not, uhm, that's not quite what I meant, my lady." The knight's face was as crimson as the armour he was wearing, and now Joanna was laughing. "This is hardly appropriate, Joanna. I mean, my lady Joanna."

"Oh relax Trevor," she said as she turned back towards the stable. "You're too sweet and proper for your own good."

"Need to be sweet and proper to keep you safe." Joanna could picture the smug grin on his face. It made her shake her head in humour.

"And I suppose this means you'll be joining Rickon and I out in the scary old woods," she said, giggling.

"Aye. You'll have me and the little Stark lord to help protect you."

She put her hands up to her chest, feigning danger and said, "My two brave heroes. With you two, what could possibly go wrong?"

. . .

Nowhere in the Westerlands were there forests like the Wolfswood. This forest was dark and filled with greens and browns. The little sunlight there was barely streamed through the canopy of the forest. Much to Joanna's expectations, Ser Trevor insisted on riding in front of her and Rickon. She looked over at the boy now, and once again reflected on how he took from his mother almost entirely, looking like a slightly shorter and stockier Bran with curlier hair like Robb's. Rickon noticed her gaze and winked at her. She couldn't hold in the laugh, and said, "You cheeky bugger."

The boy held his air of confidence though, refusing to let himself be chided into an apology. Instead, he rode forward quickly, jumping his horse onto a smaller hill, and unsheathing the short blade Rodrik had given him before coming out here. "I'm not afraid of the woods!" The young Stark's voice echoed around, casting an eerie silence across around the three of them.

Ser Trevor simply shook his head, laughing. "So, where is it you were guiding us, Rickon?" Joanna moved her horse over to the knight, shoving him in the saddle. "What was that for?" he asked, rubbing his shoulder underneath the lamellar armour.

"Rickon? You call him Rickon, but I'm my lady!"

"Of course you're my lady, my lady," he said, causing Joanna to draw her lips closed in frustration. The knight turned to Rickon, and asked, "Now where is it that we're going, Rickon?"

The boy sheathed his sword and pulled his horse forward in the direction of another trail - most likely made by a deer or elk of some kind and said, "There's a spring a bit further into the forest. I think you'll like it Joanna."

"I believe I shall, Rickon," she said, looking at Trevor with a slight victory grin on her face now. The knight shrugged it off, riding off after the youngest Stark boy with his crimson cloak bellowing over his shoulders. He looked so much like a Tyrell.

. . .

After spending nearly another hour riding out on the trail, and debating what had caused it to form, the three reached an opening free of the canopy above them. It was dark though; more clouds had moved into the sky, and these clouds were far darker than the ones she had seen earlier. They were greyer, and drooped down. It hardly stormed in Casterly Rock. Here it seemed to be muggy like this every other day.

"I should've listened to that guard. It looks like it is going to rain after all," Joanna said, dismounting her horse and hitting the ground with a thud. It was muddy and dirty. She liked it.

Trevor looked up, turning his head around, "What, these clouds? We have some time. I want to see this spring."

Joanna could hear the water falling from somewhere, but there were still groves of trees all through the clearing. Rickon dismounted his smaller horse, leading it by the reigns and motioning to the two older to come over towards one of the larger groves; one that was going into a hill. Her face lit up when they stepped through to the other side.

"It's so beautiful," she said, her mouth opened in awe. A tiny waterfall of clear water sprang from a crack in the rocks falling into a pool. A smaller stream erupted out of one side, weaving its way through the tree line and away. Everything felt so much warmer in the little grove. Her eyes went around the pool, taking in everything before they came across the white tree.

Rickon noticed her staring at the tree and spoke, "It's a Weirwood, Joanna. Like the one in Winterfell-"

"Only far larger, and far more frightening," Joanna said, taking a step back. The woman gulped, and she felt Trevor's hand on her shoulder.

"It's only a tree, my lady. Nothing to be worried about," the knight said, solidifying his hold on her. Something wasn't right though, and she spun her head around to the top of the little hill. There was something there. One of the horses started neighing and stamping wildly from outside the grove. "Joanna, Rickon, stay calm."

With his hand on his blade, the young knight unsheathed it, the sound of tempered steel bringing the grove to silence. Rickon moved closer to Joanna; she could see that the boy was afraid. "Who's there?" Trevor shouted into the emptiness. There was no reply. There was no sound at all now, and it had become much darker. "I am Ser Trevor of the Westerlands. Show yourself at once!"

A group of crows burst from the branches of the Weirwood tree, taking off into the air. The sound made the knight turn, bringing his sword up.

As quick as the crows were in the air flying away, the unsettling quietness returned to the grove. Joanna had to look back up at the outcropping at the top of the broken, exposed rock. Now, the presence was there. She backed away again towards the pool. "Trevor... up there," she said, pointing. The knight followed her finger, raising his sword. She could hear his own panicked gulp. It was a beast none of them had never seen before, yet there was something familiar about it; it looked like a wolf, only bigger. And the dark greys and whites of its fur clashed with the bright red eyes staring back at the three companions.

Another of these beasts moved up beside its pack member. A long, deep howl came from it as it raised its head in the air. Rickon had drawn his little short sword as well, standing with it raised next to Trevor.

"No one move," the knight said, holding his left arm out and grabbing the Stark boy's shoulder. A third wolf beast had emerged from the treeline, standing opposite them on the other side of the pool. The fur around its mouth was crimson, stained with the blood of some poor creature. Joanna swallowed again as she thought that it could've been a man that the beast had fed on.

The first droplets of rain fell onto the girl's cheek, running down her face. She was shaking in fear. The three wolves were watching them, unmoving in their gaze until the one that Joanna could only assume was the alpha turned and started moving away from the outcropping. His two fellow pack members followed, leaving the three companions standing in the open, soaking in the rain. A few more moments passed before Trevor relaxed his sword grip and stood up straight, sheathing the blade in its scabbard. Rickon did the same and let out a long breath he had been holding.

Joanna still couldn't move. Those bright, red eyes had been watching her, and only her. Two firm hands grabbed her shoulders, and she let out a tiny shriek of terror. "Joanna!" the knight said, shaking her. "We're okay, they've moved on."

She blinked her eyes, coming to realisation. It was the second time he'd said her name. Finally her breathing returned to normal as she sat down on a rock near the pool. "I just need a minute."

Ser Trevor started speaking, moving away from her and Rickon. "I just need to check-"

"No!" Joanna cried out, standing up. Her voice went much softer. "Don't leave us alone with those... monsters out there."

The Stark boy spoke up, grabbing Joanna's hand to try and calm her down. "They aren't monsters. They're direwolves, I think. Or at the very least, they're like the ones old Nan tells stories about. But I didn't think they still existed."

"They're just big wolves. It's raining, it's dark. Next, my young lord, you'll be telling me that dragons still live," he said as started towards where the horses should be. "I think it'd be best if we went back to Winterfell, went to the kitchens and snack on some warm sweet rolls."

The knight turned and tilted his head. Joanna looked to Rickon before conceding defeat. Rickon smiled, and said, "But only if I can have strawberry jam on mine."

"Aye Rickon, you can have yours with strawberry jam. Now let's go."

The Lannister woman stood, brushing her trousers off before taking one last look up at the top of the hill. That feeling came back, and she turned to the Weirwood, its red sap dark and sinister in appearance. And behind it, poking through the treeline shrouded in shadows, two red eyes looked back at her before disappearing into the forest.

* * *

**A/N**:_ Dun, dun, dun_

_Imp_: Effortless, but think on the type of people he's dealing with. _Pirates_. Ironborn pirates. They were rather quick to be done with Denys... Just saying lol

_Frozen862_: I do apologise for length and such. I just write until I hit that point where I should stop from a plot perspective. But I'm still so happy that you're enjoying the story!

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	21. Theon

**Theon**

The horse underneath the man shook as another loud bang of thunder sounded in the forest. It felt as though the trees had moved along with it, bending in the wind. These woods were unsettling enough in the dark; mixing in a storm was making the dark trees even more oppressive in their appearance. Branches winded around between the trees, and the ground was littered with even more branches and twigs. Tiny sounds came from all around the man and his horse.

"Easy there," he said, pulling the reigns back. "We're alright. Just a bit of thunder, girl."

Robb had sent the Iron Islander out to fetch Joanna and Rickon when one of the gatehouse guards reported that they hadn't returned from their ride into the Wolfswood. On a good day, Theon would've enjoyed the ride out here; he'd have strapped his longbow to his back and brought along a quiver of steel-tipped arrows to hunt for a good deer to bring back for supper. Instead, he was hunting for these three, one kid and two foreigners, who had got themselves lost in the woods.

"Lady Joanna!" Theon called out into the trees. "Rickon! Ser Ornry!" No reply came other than the rustle of the wind through the canopy of the trees, another low rumble of thunder accompanying it. He had to try again though. Robb would kill him if he didn't bring his betrothed back in one piece. He cupped his hands around his mouth, yelling, "Are any of you out here!"

He held the horse there, waiting in the silence for a reply. And in the distance, he swore he heard a horse neighing back in reply. "Lady Joanna! Rickon! Ser Ornry!"

From far away, a voice called back softly. "Theon? Is that you?"

The Greyjoy squinted his eyes, cupping his eyes to try and see them. Rain had started falling, drastically reducing visibility. He tried calling out again, "I'm over here!" The sound of a horse neighing started becoming louder and he could hear the sound of hooves trampling on sticks and leaves over the sound of the downpour.

A horse backed figure emerged from the shroud, a cloak firmly around their head. "Theon, you're a sight for sore eyes."

Flashing a cheeky smile, the Iron Islander bowed his head and said, "My lady. Your betrothed asked that I find the three of you and bring you home." He could now see her face far more clearly, and the fear was painted on it heavily. It took them by surprise and he asked, "Are you alright?"

It was her guard that answered, coming between her and Theon. "My lady will be fine. We had a run in with a pack of wolves out there."

"Wolves? You, in your armour and trained by your knights in the south, were scared off by some little wolves?" Theon asked, left amazed by Ser Trevor's answer.

The knight turned, casting a glare at the Greyjoy. There was no humour in his eyes as he spoke, moving closer on his horse. He was using his size to intimidate him. Theon drew his lips closed, refusing to back away from the knight. "I'd like to see the great Theon Greyjoy fight off these wolves alone in this storm. What would the squid do? Run off to Lord Robb like the little-"

"Enough, Trevor," Joanna said with a strong sense of finality, moving her horse over to them. The knight looked away, and his face was awash with anger. "Rickon is freezing to death, and this storm is getting worse. Let's ride back to Winterfell, where you two can go at it as much as you bloody well want."

"Yes, my lady." The both of them had said it at once and looked back at each other. Theon hated the knight, with his sense of chivalry and pomposity. How he walked the corridors of Winterfell as though he weren't some bitch that was leashed by the young southern girl. Even as he turned now, that ridiculous crimson cloak bellowing out behind him. Bloody Jaime Lannister must be his idol; Theon had remembered the Lannister knight strutting about Winterfell with his own white cloak, crimson lining its length. Lord Stark had taught him a proper Northern lesson when he bested him in combat. If only Robb would do the same to this man.

. . .

Following behind the three, Theon kept his distance all the way to Winterfell. He didn't much care to be chastised and berated by the arrogant prick from the south. And as much as Theon enjoyed talking with Joanna, and fawning over her, she wasn't in the best of moods right now. Thunder kept roaring and lightning lit up the shadows of the forest. He could hear a crunching sound coming from his right and looked over.

Joanna was terrified of something out here. Ser Trevor had said it was a simple pack of wolves, but even the knight had a gleam of fear in his eyes when he had challenged Theon. For a moment, Theon had considered that the three had seen direwolves, but he laughed dryly to himself. Old Nan's stories were getting to him.

He could swear something was out there, but shook his head at the thought. "Just the damn storm playing trick," he whispered to himself. They were close to Winterfell, and he needed to focus on that. And just to be safe, he'd ask Maester Luwin about direwolves.

He waited until the three had housed their horses in the stables and ran inside the keep before taking his own horse in. The stable-hand took it in, grabbing the reigns. Theon jumped off and nodded to the boy before making his way to the keep.

It was warm inside, the braziers a lit with fire. Theon spent a few precious moments warming his hands by one of them as he looked about the entrance hall. A handful of Stark men-at-arms were making their rounds, white surcoats blazoned with the grey direwolf of the house. Their long tower shields white, with a green band around the bottom. But Theon's gaze lingered on that wolf, his thoughts going to those fateful words of House Stark. Winter is coming.

For the millionth time, he shook his head of that line of thinking. There were no direwolves, certainly not this far south of the Wall. And Maester Luwin would tell him the same. The Greyjoy started making his way for the maester's quarters, making it there quickly. The corridors were freezing as a result of the storm, and the warmth of the maester's fireplace would be most welcome. Theon knocked on the door once before entering,

"Maester..." He let the question hang. Luwin was with Joanna's father, the Dornish man of House Martell. "Excuse me, my lord."

Oberyn unfolded his legs, kicking the other chair out. "It's no trouble at all, please sit. Maester Luwin and I were simply discussing this horrid weather." Theon was already unwinding from earlier, the Martell was good company. And he had a very kindly, outward look on life; one that the Greyjoy strived to have.

Even with the actions of his house weighing heavy on his shoulders. It wasn't his fault his father led an independence revolt against Rhaegar, yet whenever a foreign lord or knight came to Winterfell from the south, they always casted him sour looks. Theon knew that the Iron Islands would never fall within the hands of a Greyjoy again. His sister was a ward in Riverrun, and he in Winterfell. The Starks had never once mistreated him, and he saw no reason to think ill of them. Robb was like a brother to him.

The Dornish man continued to speak. "And thank you for delivering my daughter back safely."

"Of course, my lord," Theon said, bowing his head.

"Now what is it you wished to ask?" Theon looked up, casting an uneasy glance at the man. Weighing whether or not asking about direwolves would result in him being laughed at. Nothing was being gained by being quiet.

After exhaling, the Greyjoy began to speak. "Maester Luwin, is it possible that direwolves could live here? I mean, this far south of the Wall?"

"Anything's possible, Theon," the maester said, grinning. He leaned forward in his chair though, looking at Theon with his old, yet painfully scrutinising eyes. "Why do you ask?"

A large bang of thunder sounded, making the room feel as though it were shaking.

"Lady Joanna was frightened to death when I found the three of them. Her knight-protector said they'd come across a pack of wolves... I laughed it off because there are plenty of wolves out there. But, on the way back, it felt like something was following us. Watching us from all around. Something far more sinister."

The maester continued to look at Theon, carefully analysing what he had said. There was one more piece of information that the boy hadn't shared, and Luwin knew. Theon continued, "I swear that I saw two red eyes staring at me from the darkness of the woods. It wasn't natural."

"Theon, direwolves haven't been seen south of the Wall in hundreds of years," the maester said softly. He despised when Maester Luwin spoke in that tone. Like he was still a child to be lectured.

Luckily for him, Lord Oberyn spoke up after remaining silent for much of the conversation. "Why don't we have the testimony of the other three as well? If all four of them saw it, then they all four cannot possibly be blind."

"Very well, my lord," Luwin said before turning to Theon. "Would you be so kind as to fetch the other three and bring them here?"

"Yes, maester." Theon stood up and took a deep breath, stepping out of the room and practically running across the keep to the kitchens where he knew the three of them would be. He passed more guardsmen and servants, smiths and couriers before finally arriving outside the kitchen. Stopping to lean on the door, Theon shook it off and stepped in. And of course Trevor had to be standing right in front of him.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the wet squid," he said, sniggering at Theon's dishevelled appearance. One day, he thought to himself. One day, we'll see who's the last one laughing. For now, he ignored the boy, stepping around him.

"Maester Luwin would like the three of you in his chambers."

"Why?" the knight asked. "Is this about the stupid wolves?"

Joanna stepped forward, silencing the knight. "You'll tell him exactly what we saw, Ser Ornry." There was iron in her voice, and the knight backed down. Something the girl had said had wounded him. Good. "Come on, Rickon." And now the four together made their way to Maester Luwin.

. . .

"The other three are right, maester. There were at least three of them. Big, grey and white and black mottled fur. The largest of the three had piercing red eyes unlike anything I've ever seen. It was staring at me, straight at me. Unmoving in its gaze. And when the other came up with blood stained around its mouth..." Joanna had to stop; the same fear Theon had saw then was returning to her eyes. He wanted to go over and take her in his arms. This beautiful girl shouldn't be so scared. As if somehow reading his mind, Lord Oberyn stood up and walked over, consoling her.

"It's okay, you're safe here now."

Maester Luwin simply looked on, not looking at anything in particular until he began speaking. "I must send letters to Castle Black. And to the Citadel, and Lord Stark as well. If direwolves have moved south, and are living in the Wolfswood..." His voice trailed once more, and a tiny pang of fear came to Theon. Seeing the maester with the worried expression on his face was unnerving. The man was hardly ever speechless.

"Please, the four of you can leave. Be safe and don't leave the castle for any circumstances. Lord Martell, if you'll excuse me. I must see to it that Lady Stark is made aware of this."

"Maester, what does this mean?" Joanna asked, her voice timid.

"My sweet child," he started, a sad look on his face, "You know the words of your betrothed's house. They are always true sooner or later. Winter is coming. And this one will be long."

* * *

**A/N**: How quickly things begin to go wrong...

_imp_: They don't have their direwolves. And my direwolves are not such cute and loving pups that have grown with the Starks. As for the wildlings, they're coming. Mark my words, they're coming.

_lurien_: Thanks for the comment! I'm intrigued that you read what happened as some sort of a usurpation of the direwolves and Stark relationship in the making. I prmise you though, they're not looking at her as a friend. And I am so glad you're enjoying the story.

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	22. Eddard IV

**Eddard**

A few days more of riding had passed, and finally the king's procession had reached the borders of the Riverlands and the Crownlands, the personal demesne of the king. Lord Eddard rode his horse alongside the Lord of Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister. Two of the most powerful lords in the Seven Kingdoms, soon to be bounded in blood. He strained his eyes, noticing a stone tower erected to one side of the rode, a banner bearing the standard of House Targaryen affixed to the side. A group of structures, most likely built to house the garrison stood opposite the tower. A wooden palisade protected it, more banners hanging along it, bearing the standards of many houses sworn to the dragon.

"Soldiers? The king has stationed guards-"

"To stem the flow of refugees, and others, from entering the capital holdfast," Lord Tywin finished for the northern lord, a curt grin applied to his already irritated demeanour. "Of Lord Velaryon's doing, I can assure you, my lord."

Eddard wanted to laugh at the sight. What the king had achieved was practically the closure of the border between two of the largest folds in the Seven Kingdoms. Two men-at-arms stepped forward bearing sigils on their breastplates the Stark man had not seen before. A crimson phoenix, arms outstretched on a golden sunburst. They brandished their spears, barring passage forward along the highway. "They're soldiers loyal to House Maslan."

"House Maslan?"

"A Valyrian house. They came over during the war and swore fealty to Rhaegar. Went south and served him on the Baratheon front. Awarded the Duchy of Rosby for his service."

"Truly?" Eddard was confused by that. Rosby was a fairly large city north of the capital, King's Landing. It was ruled over by Lord Gyles of House Rosby, a sickly man who had chosen to not fight in the war himself. But, it was a long-standing house. That it would be depraved of such a significant amount of power was astounding.

Tywin nodded his head. "Yes, he's ruler over Baron Gyles of Rosby. Lord Maslan had a keep built a bit to the east a few years back, on the bay. _Castle Azagar_. Typical Valyrian bravado there."

A handful of soldiers marched out of the tower as the king's group stopped. The bellowing cloak of the knight in command was a deep red, and he raised the face plate on his helm as he stopped before the king.

"We're stopping?" Lord Eddard pulled the reins on his horse, keeping it still.

"To be checked, Lord Stark. Who knows who might have decided to join our company on the way here?" Tywin dryly said, himself let out a sigh, moving his horse forward. "We're in his majesty's company. This checkpoint will be even more on edge."

On his right, two pikemen walked by with their weapons tensely ready to strike. Another two soldiers walked behind them with sword and shield raised. The same was happening to the left. No disturbances so far - though they had only been by the king and a few members of the Kingsguard. There were plenty more to check in the convoy. This would take a while.

Eddard's eyes went up, taking in more of the tower until he reached the top. He could see the crossbowmen on the top-most ramparts, watching both the northern and southern passage of the Kingsroad. They would have clear visibility for miles in any direction here, with the exception of the forest on the western side.

"What do they do about that?" the Stark lord said, motioning towards the great expanse of green to the right with an outstretched arm.

Lord Tywin turned and began speaking, "Plenty of soldiers patrol the forest between us and Harrenhal. But they can't stop everyone."

"I bear no disrespect, but your naivety amuses me, my lord." Eddard looked to the man with an eyebrow raised, ready for whatever insult the Lannister had concocted. Rather, a sullen look was on his face.

"The North has remained so unaffected. The world is changing, Ned. Faster than we could've imagined. We had a riot in the capital a month ago - a group stormed the Red Keep and demanded a voice in the King's Council. This," Twyin looked around at the soldiers moving back up the column towards the tower before continuing. "This is all reactionary. Stationed to curb brigands and worse. But in reality, to stop the flow of the smallfolk across the Seven Kingdoms. The crown has wealth, power, control. Yet we are still failing." They began to move forward again, the horses trotting in tandem past the tower's red cloaked captain, his head bowed down.

The westerner continued speaking, "You were invited to the capital to help reign this in, Lord Stark. The King's Council is not what it was a generation ago. Advisors from across the Narrow Sea fill the same seats men of the Seven Kingdoms do. King Rhaegar is a good king, do not take my words as treasonous. But he is like everyone else, facing a new world while we continue to exist in the old one. Lord Velaryon was old and stubborn, like the rest of us are. And now he is dead. What world will we leave behind when we are gone?"

Looking down at the mane of his horse, Eddard ran his hand along the softness of it, thinking on what Tywin had just told him. He'd been in Winterfell for so long, none of this had affected his vassals. Or at least, nothing was being reported to him from his sworn lords. Eddard shook his head of the thought - it was impossible that his lords were hiding information. They would be fools to do so. Still, it was a worrying thought.

And after seeing the soldiers stationed here, he wondered what the rest of the Crownlands would be like. What had changed in the short time since he had last been this far south.

Riding down the column, Eddard spotted the courier. He stopped before the two lord-paramounts and delivered his message, "We'll be stopping in Antlers for the night at the invitation of Lord Buckwell." The courier bowed his head and began riding to deliver the message to the others. That still left them with a few hours of riding, and they'd be getting off the Kingsroad to visit.

. . .

They arrived at the city around nightfall, stars visible in the sky above them. It was another warm night - a warmth that Eddard had not yet become accustomed to. As they moved closer to the capital, it was only going to get warmer. Sansa had taken to it quickly, of course. The girl was already dressed in much shorter silk dresses that Lyanna had brought along. His sister had known exactly what Sansa would take fancy to.

It was Arya, however, that surprised him. Ever since leaving Winterfell, his youngest girl had taken to her sister and Jeyne's company. And although she still spent time on horseback, riding ahead with the outriders, seeing his daughters bonding together was refreshing.

Eddard sighed at seeing Sansa step out of the carriage. He'd yet to tell her that he'd discussed a marriage between her and Willas Tyrell during the king's visit at Winterfell. House Tyrell was strong, and Garlan had assured him that she'd be happy in Highgarden. Lord Stark trusted Garlan in that - the man spoke highly of his home, and his brother. Willas wasn't exactly young though, and Eddard feared leaving his daughter in the hands of a house even further to the south than King's Landing. Still, best let her enjoy her time in the capital before saying anything.

Bran was a different case. He followed on the heels of the Kingsguard wherever they went. It filled Eddard with pride to see his son taking a liking to the knights, and their Lord-Commander. He hoped that Bran could one day be the knight that Arthur Dayne was. A man of honour, skill and chivalry. A thought crossed his mind though as he dismounted his horse. _Would men like that still matter? _

A stable hand ran out and grabbed the reigns of his horse, bringing Eddard back to the present. He looked around at the stone walls before looking at the keep. Antlers was far wealthier than Harroway, even if Lord Buckwell ruled only over the tiny county. His lands were between the cities of Rosby and Maidenpool. That gave him quite a bit of power over trade, and was reason for the wealth in the city.

Men in fine half-plate stood guard of the gates both entering and leaving the courtyard. The keep itself was protected by fully plated men-at-arms, their yellow steel glistening in the torchlight. Many within the king's company were making their way inside the keep, and Eddard started for the entrance as well. Inside he found the king stood next to a man with his back turned. "Your grace," Eddard said, bowing.

"Ned," Rhaegar started, moving over to the Stark. "I'd like to introduce you to Harold, of House Buckwell."

Eddard bowed his head, "Thank you for allowing us your hall and hospitality, my lord."

"Nonsense, my lord. The very least I can do for such company travelling within my lands," Harold said, grabbing Eddard's shoulder and pulling his head up. Lord Buckwell was young. And he had a firm look on his face. Not quite the gluttonous, older lord that Eddard had expected to meet. A lord that had become too comfortable with his position. "And I should be saying lord hand. It will be good to have you in the capital, Lord Stark. The realm needs someone of your calibre right now after Lord Velaryon's unfortunate passing. The stress of running a kingdom."

Rhaegar laughed, "Oh yes. While I prance around drinking and jousting, I leave it to my hands to run the kingdom. In any sense, I must retire to my quarters that Harold has so graciously given me for the evening. Good night, my lords." Ser Whent fell back and followed behind, leaving Harold and Eddard stood in the entrance hall.

"That was no jest, my lord. You'll be running this kingdom now. I still believe it's the stress that killed Lord Velaryon." Lord Buckwell put his hand on Eddard's shoulder. "Though you are younger, and dare I say, far wiser. These kingdoms are in the best of hands."

* * *

**A/N**: Let me apologise for taking a long time to update. Writing is not an easy thing to do, especially when you're extremely self-critical of your own writing.

_Guest_: Nope, no puppies, these are vicious wolves!

_Imp_: Theon does take fancy to her. You'll see what happens with that soon enough.

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	23. Ezra III

**Ezra**

"Daenerys Targaryen?" Renly said with bewilderment as paced around the room. "And you say that Viserys has asked for this betrothal?"

Ezra bowed his head, holding the parchment out to the Baratheon. "You can read it here yourself, my lord. He claims that he wishes to put away any ill will between you and House Targaryen."

"Appeasement, plain and simple. No doubt on orders from his older brother. Our good king Rhaegar," the Stormlord said, grabbing the letter out of Ezra's hand. His eyes went over the contents a few times before he placed it down on the desk in front of him. With a defeated look on his face, he slid down into the chair and put his hands up to his temples. Ezra moved over closer, feeling the pain from his friend.

"Renly, don't fret... She is young, and beautiful, I hear," the Braavosi said. He placed his hand on Renly's shoulder. "And I have told you before. You must marry to see the Baratheon line continue."

"I know, I know, my friend. You tell me often enough," he said, chuckling. "But those... those monsters killed one of my brothers and drove the other away. And now Rhaegar expects me to marry into his house. Why? Why else than to keep me close?"

Ezra sat down opposite the young lord with a wizened look on his face that Renly always made comment of. "Perhaps, out of some foolish trickery by the Mother, the king truly wishes to bury the hatchet."

Those eyes looked back up at Ezra with humour as he replied, "Bury the hatchet, eh? Great choice of words there. Are you thinking more the chest or the brain? This being a matter of love, I myself would go for the heart."

"You know what I meant," Ezra said, rolling his eyes. "Put the past away."

"I always imagined I'd marry Margaery." Renly's face was soft, and his eyes were less like a stag and more like a little doe. It was a painful sight to behold. Softly, he said, "Putting the past away..."

"Marrying Margaery won't see you any closer to or further from Loras than marrying the Targaryen girl, Renly."

"You're right, my friend. But I need to think on this." He held his hand up before Ezra could speak any further. "And before you say anything, I will most likely accept the proposal. I simply want to go through all of this in my head."

"Of course."

As he finished speaking, a tiny knock came from the door to the study. "Come in." Renly said, beckoning his page in once the boy was in the doorway.

"My lord," the young knight-in-training Brus said, holding yet another letter in his hand. "This arrived for you from the capital." He handed it off to Ezra, before stepping back and crossing his arms behind his back.

"Is there anything else, Brus?" Renly said, inquiring to the boy's continued presence in the room. Ezra knew it was a little test, and waited to open the letter until Renly was finished.

"No, my lord. I would like to stay here though, with your permission."

Ezra spotted the slight grin come to the lord's face. "And if the contents of this letter were to be of the most clandestine and secretive and dare I even say dangerous in nature. That any who stood and listened would be cursed to forever watch their back for fear of assassins or worse. What would you so to that?"

The page remained in his stance, and simple said, "Let them come. I fear not one who cowers in the dark."

With a harsh laugh, Renly sat back in his chair. "Of course not, brave Ser Brus of the Bronzegate. Good lad, come here. Sit. Listen." The Baratheon kicked the other stool out, motioning to it with his arm, still shaking his head at the boy's unnerved tone.

The Braavosi looked down at the wax seal, the symbol of the King's Council was pressed into it. "From his majesty's court," Ezra started, breaking the seal with his small pocket knife. He cleared his throat before reading out the letter. "To Lord Renly of House Baratheon of Storm's End. You are hereby invited to King's Landing as an honorary guest to the Hand's Tourney in honour of the appointment of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord-Paramount of the North, to the position of Hand of the King. The tourney is to happen in a month's time. Signed Gyle Turncroft, Seneschal for the King's Court."

With it read, Ezra placed it on the desk. Renly nodded his head, and said, "Good. There hasn't been a proper tourney in months. And my new squire Brus here will love to see it. Not exactly ready to compete, but, soon enough." Even with the apparent jovial nature of Renly's response, Ezra could sense the anger at Eddard Stark's name. The man had been the first to betray his brother's trust, and even if the rest of the realm loved the Stark man, Renly never would. He began to stand up, Brus following quickly behind. Renly however simply brushed his trousers off. "I do need you to go now, Brus. Ezra and I have private business to attend to for the rest of the afternoon. Go down to the armoury, find Ser Hartwood and go with him on his patrol."

"Yes, my lord," Brus said, bowing his head and leaving.

Ezra waited until the door had closed before asking, "Private business, Renly?"

"Yes, I want to see him, her, it - whatever it is, I want to see it," Renly said, looking at Ezra. The Braavosi knew he was speaking of the dragon, though only still an unhatched egg, soon enough it would be born.

Nodding his head, he stood up. The two men began the trek over to Ezra's chambers. They passed by few on their way; Storm's End was not the most populated of keeps in the Seven Kingdoms. Not too many courtiers, and not too many knights. And with Ser Loras back in Highgarden, taking his handful of attendants away, it only felt emptier.

. . .

The knight locked the door behind him, not wanting any disturbances from any prying eyes within the keep. Renly simply stood by the bed while Ezra went for the closet. Inside, he fished the chest out of a larger chest, bringing it out and dropping it on the little table. "Unlock it. I trust only you with the key."

Nodding his head, Ezra turned the key, the locking mechanism springing to life with a loud click. At the sound, Renly walked over and lifted the lid, taking in the sight of the large black and brown egg. He ran his hand along the many crevices. "There's life in here, Ezra. I can feel it," his lord said, raising his head up with a smile on his lips. "And _Jorhìn_. That's his name."

"It's not even born, and you've already named it?" Ezra said incredulously. "It's not a pet, or an animal even. It's a dragon, Renly. A dangerous creature of myth and legend."

"And I have given him a strong name befitting of such mystique. Such power."

"You don't even know if it's a male, Renly."

"That's where you're wrong, Ezra," the Baratheon said, shaking his head. "I don't know why, but I can feel him. He's so... alive."

Ezra was at a loss for words. He didn't know the first thing about dragons. No-one knew the first thing about dragons. Or at least, he didn't imagine anyone would know anything about them. Dragons had been dead for generations, none alive would've ever seen one.

Still, Ezra wondered if the maester would know anything at all. "Renly, perhaps we must allow one other to know about the dragon. Someone to help us."

"Who?" he asked, still stroking the hardened shell of the egg. "Who else would you trust here?"

"Maester Declann?" Ezra suggested, fully expecting Renly to disagree. Instead, the man remained silent, thinking on the suggestion. A few moments passed before the Baratheon stood, nodding his head in agreement.

"Very well. The maester might have access to books and knowledge to help me." Renly stood up, closing the lid to the chest. Darkly, Renly added, "And he wouldn't be foolish enough to betray me."

Walking over, past Renly, Ezra locked the chest, removing the key and placing both items back in the closet chest. He closed that chest as well, locking it with a separate key he kept on his person.

* * *

**A/N**: To make up for this being short, two chapters today. This one is simple and well, a marriage between the Baratheons and Targaryens. What could possible go wrong there? And looks as though Renly might be a bit, on edge?

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	24. Willem IV

**Willem**

Crisp blue water shone orange in the setting sun as the ship neared the city of Sunspear. Plenty of other ships filled the harbour as well, coming to and from the great city. Blackfoot brought his ship up to one of the piers, a dozen dock workers came out to help tie the ship down.

"You're free to leave the ship, but don't leave the docks. We make sail for Myr in an hour," Blackfoot said, moving away to direct two of the sailors carrying a large crate between them. Willem and Ser Gardiner left the ship, and for the first time in a month, the Reyne was on solid land. It felt good beneath his feet. He and his sworn knight both began away from the ship and were fully surrounded by people.

Neville went off on his own, leaving Willem sat at a bench in one of the many open air courtyards. Plenty of other foreigners were seated, enjoying food and company. It was a lovely day out. He looked around at all of the colours.

Filled to the brim with vendors selling every good imaginable, the port city of Sunspear felt like a true and proper city. Far more so than the last time Willem had been; though that was back years ago, and he stayed mainly in the royal palace of House Dorne. Being a Sand of House Allyrion had its advantages while growing up - especially in Dorne. "Or maybe only in Dorne," Willem whispered softly.

"Hmm, did you ask something?" Ser Gardiner asked, sitting down beside the little lord with two covered items in his hands. He handed one to Willem before unwrapping the cloth and taking a bite out of the food.

The boy shook his head, "No, it's nothing important right now." He hated that he'd grown up a bastard of House Allyrion, no matter the few privileges it gave him. The truth would remain with him for his life. All that mattered now was reclaiming his birth right - and destroying the family that destroyed his.

He looked down at the food in his hand. "What is this?"

Neville shook his head. "I'm not so sure. The woman at the stall was from Lys and could barely speak the common tongue. Seems to be some sort of melon, coated in honey." He took another bite, and said, "All I know is that it's delicious."

"If you say so," Willem said as he took a bite of his. The knight was right, it had a very refreshing, sweet taste. That was one of the joys of the south, and especially a trade city on the Narrow Sea. Plenty of exotic tastes to acquire. Some time passed and more started to fill the square.

A man came up with a poster, nailing it to a post in the middle of the square. Seemed to draw a bit of attention. Willem called the man over, "Excuse me, but what is that a poster for?"

"The king has announced a tourney to take place in the capital, milord," the man said. Willem inwardly smiled at the courteousness of the man.

"When?"

"At the beginning of the next month."

"Thank you, sir." At Willem's command, Neville gave the man a few silvers for the information. Probably more than the man would receive for hanging the notices up around the city. "Well, there we are. I told you there would be cause to go to the capital."

"That you did, my lord. Bloody coincidence if you ask me."

"I think it's simply my luck, Neville." Willem smiled at the older knight, crossing his arms.

Shaking his head though, Neville grimly said, "Luck runs out at the worst of times. We need to be careful, Willem."

"Relax. Now, what do you think our good captain is doing here anyway?"

Ser Gardiner laughed. "What every pirate does. Selling in the more nefarious market. Sunspear's large enough to have some less than savoury sorts to deal with."

"Then maybe it's him you should be warning to be careful."

"Even so, we should best be getting back to the ship. He'll most likely want to be out by nightfall."

"Then let's head back on board. What could possibly go wrong on our voyage to Myr?" the young lord said, shaking his head at the older knight's continued worry.

. . .

At the sound of the captain above him, he melted into the archway, bringing the cloak tightly around himself and making himself invisible in the darkness of the night. Willem craned his head upwards to hear what the two men were talking about.

"-whelp is in his quarters. You can't possibly expect us to sail to Myr, captain. Lord Greyjoy expects us in the capital at the end of the month."

"I'm well aware of that, Grounge. But I gave my word to the boy, and he's done nothing to give me cause to break his trust." The other pirate spat at that, causing another voice to laugh. A heavy sigh came from Blackfoot. "I know that none of you had any specific grievances toward Denys, but I did. The man was a cheat. What the boy did was a service to me."

"Growing soft, captain? I can speak for my men on this ship. We're not serving this boy." Willem heard a blade unsheathe from a scabbard and slam into wood, causing the Reyne to slowly move away, back towards the door. A man ran past him, almost bumping into him. Luckily, he hadn't seen him, and the man continued up the stairs.

"We'll deal with the boy later." Willem heard Blackfoot step away. "What is it, Polter?"

Willem didn't stick around to hear, instead sliding back through the door into the corridor and making his way for his quarters. He found Ser Gardiner inside, getting the cot ready for the night.

"Ser Gardiner!" Willem said exasperated, breathing heavily. The knight came over and grabbed the boy.

"Yes?" he asked, moving towards Willem.

"I overheard Blackfoot speaking with Grounge. It looks like we're to be rid of a bit earlier than I had planned."

The knight nodded his head. "So what's the plan?"

"I don't know-" The door behind Willem was forced open and he drew his short-sword from the scabbard at his hip, the sound cutting through the air.

"E'cuse me, milords. The captain would like the two of you on deck. A ship's come up on our rear to board us flying the king's flag." The Reyne nodded his head, sheathing the blade back at his waist as the door closed. He turned to see Ser Gardiner looking out the rear window.

"Aye, you can see the ship. There." The knight pointed at a ship in the distance, gaining speed on them. And suddenly, a plan came together in the young lord's head. He undid his belt, laying the short sword by_ Red Rain_. Hopefully, whomever would enter this room next would be intelligent enough to take these weapons and armour with them. He didn't like leaving the blade behind.

Willem tore the shirt he was wearing at his shoulder, drawing the attention of the knight. "Hit me," he told him, standing with his fists clenched at his sides.

"Say again, my lord?"

"Hit me. Punch my face." Uneasily Ser Gardiner began undoing his gauntlets, but Willem stopped him, grabbing his hands and bringing them up. "No, hit me. It needs to be convincing. And bloody."

It all began to click on the knight's face. Willem stepped back, bringing his hands back down to his sides. Winding his arm back, the knight threw his fist at the young lord's face, coming into contact with a satisfying hit. To Willem, it was a pain he had never felt before; he could feel the bone in his cheek practically break from the impact.

"Again."

Almost a jest in saying it, Willem watched the knight brought his arm back and let it fly at his face again, this time the maille cut into the left side of his face. He could feel the blood begin to flow down the side, and the warm blood filling his mouth. His left eye could hardly stay opn. But it wasn't enough. Not enough for his plan.

"...again."

"Willem," the knight said, concern heavy in his voice.

"No... Again."

Taking one last step back, Ser Gardiner brought his mailled fist in contact with the boy's face. Willem collapsed to the ground from the force of the blow. His head was ringing in pain. "Help... me up."

The knight put his arm around Willem's shoulder, bringing him up to his feet. Willem tried taking a step forward, finding his footing to be unstable. Without Ser Gardiner's arm around him, he would've collapsed again. The two began moving to the deck.

"Wait..." the boy croaked out. "Leave your sword." Ser Gardiner, with one arm still around Willem, untied his belt, leaving it laying on the table. "And your... gauntlets. Those too." Neville did as he was instructed, throwing the bloodied gauntlets out the rear window. Leaving no evidence, the two departed the room.

. . .

Once they arrived, Willem and his sworn knight found most of the crew already waiting there. The royal navy vessel was alongside, and men were already coming over. Armoured royal marines, their lamellar gave them optimum manoeuvring speed for the type of combat they faced.

The one in command stood different, his armour incorporating far more plate into the joints, all of it black. He also bore a coat, bearing some sort of a sigil, but from where Willem was and with the inability to see from his left eye, he could not discern it from the darkness of the night.

Blackfoot beckoned the two over, giving a sigh of relief before his face went awash with anger. Ser Gardiner, at Willem's command, allowed the lord to slide down.

In a panicked voice, Blackfoot started, "What the fuck happened to-"

The marine's commander's voice called out, "Who is in command here?"

Many of the Ironborn quickly pointed their fingers at Blackfoot, moving aside so the royal knight and his flanking men-at-arms could come forward. At seeing Willem's state, he brought his hand down to the cutlass at his side, treading much more softly.

And much to Willem's surprise, Neville was the perfect actor. "Thank the Seven you're here, ser knight. This monster would've surely killed him here if it were not for you. He took us hostage after we left Sunspear. He promised us safe passage to King's Landing for the new hand's tourney." Willem held his gaze of Blackfoot, watching as his expression went from anger to fear so quickly.

The commanding voice of the knight bellowed out, "Lantern." One of the two men behind him handed him their lantern. He stepped forward, bringing it up to the captain's face. "I should've guessed. Cladwell. How have you been?"

"You have no right to search this ship."

The knight paid no heed to Blackfoot's pitiful defence, and continued on, "You seem to be doing much better than Denys. You know," the knight took a cursory glance around, "I could've sworn this was his ship. What happened to the old Drumm boy?"

Blackfoot remained quiet this time, and the knight-marine gave a harsh laugh. "Not only pirates and kidnappers, but mutineers as well. I gave you a pardon at the Arbour, and this is how you repay me? Very well." He took a step back, his hand still on the cutlass at his side. More marines had boarded the ship, now lining the deck's edge.

"Men," the knight commanded. The sound of all of the men coming to attention was loud as their heavy boots slammed on the wood. "What is the sentence for piracy in Westeros?"

"Death!" Every marine's voice sounded out together. Nodding, the knight turned back to Blackfoot.

"Aye, death." He drew the cutlass from its sheathe. "On your knees, pirate." The captain looked back at Willem, and the boy smiled, blood still pooling on his face. Blackfoot knew he'd lost.

"On. Your. Knees." The pirate dropped his head and fell down to the deck in defeat. The knight-marine came up and placed the blade along the back of Blackfoot's neck. Raising his arm up, he brought the sword down with precision, the blade cut through the pirate's neck, removing his head from his shoulders.

He wiped the blade on his tunic before coming over to Willem and Neville. "Medic!" he yelled as he helped Willem to his feet. The boy could hardly stand now, needing the help of both men. One of the younger men-at-arms came up. "Get these two quartered on _Shieldsman_. They've been through enough as is."

"Aye, ser."

Ser Gardiner stopped the knight before he could get away, and asked, "Who do we have the pleasure of thanking?"

Bowing, the knight replied, "Ser Symon Hill, Captain of the _Shieldsman_. Now please, we can talk more when I come back on-board." Ser Hill turned and moved back towards Blackfoot's corpse.

The last thing Willem could hear before losing consciousness as he was brought over to the _Shieldsman_ was the powerful voice of Captain Hill. "Kill the crew, and scuttle this vessel, men. We take no prisoners."

* * *

**A/N**: **I've updated my prologue. Rather significant change, but I'm much more pleased with it. Story's constantly changing, so I do apologise for that.**

Second chapter for today cos I love you guys so much. Cannot believe how many of you are reading this fic. Really surprises me. :)

Honestly want to go back and rewrite the previous Willem chapter cos I'm pretty happy with this one. And I think a bit more of his character should be apparent from this little act he played.

Kinda want to go back and rewrite all of the story, but that can come later. When this first part's finished.

_imp_: Well, do remember that House Greyjoy doesn't have much of a fleet anymore. And even then, about Houses having independent fleets... Don't be so sure of House Velaryon having its own strong naval power.

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	25. Symon

**Symon**

All around him, men were dying, being cut down by his marines. Pirates were to be given no quarter; as the charter of the Royal Navy had explicitly stated when it was drawn up by Admiral Paxter Redwyne and the King's Council nearly ten years ago. And being only the second pirate vessel they'd encountered since their patrol began nearly a month ago, his men were anxious for blood.

"Captain," one of his marines started, "The deck is secure. A few escaped into the hold and through there." The man pointed at an open door, most likely leading to the captain and first mates' quarters. And whatever other important rooms on the ship.

"I'll take the above deck quarters. You two with me," Symon said, gathering his vanguard knights. The faceplates on their helmets were an imposing sight to behold.

"Aye, captain."

. . .

The three men slowly entered, and all had their swords drawn. A few lanterns and crates lay strewn across the floor, knocked down while the pirates retreated into the rooms. A sound startled from the left, a short blade flying out of the darkness. Symon backed out of the thrust and then quickly moved himself forward.

The pirate was defenceless at the close quarters, practically crushed by the impact of the armoured captain. Symon forced his blade through the pirate, feeling the man collapse. Stepping back, the body sagged to the floor. One of his men motioned towards a shadow at the end of the corridor.

They'd cornered one of the pirates in the captain's quarters. He already had a haggard appearance, which made only worse by the panic he was in right now.

"Wait, wait! I can give you information. Why we were sailing for King's Landing," the pirate said in a panic, backing up against the far wall. Ser Hill, cutlass still drawn, moved forward, flanked by his two marines.

He brought the blade up, pushing it forward towards the frightened pirate. "Speak." With emphasis, the captain brought it even closer to the pirate's neck. "Quickly."

"It's Greyjoy. We're going to meet Euron Greyjoy. He's called all the Ironborn still loyal to the kraken to King's Landing."

The knight's arm dropped as the pirate finished speaking. Turning around, Symon looked at his men before looking down at the wooden floor, thinking. "Where?"

"Where?" the panicked pirate parroted, his voice high. Two beady eyes continued to look around. "I don't... I don't know. Blackfoot never said nothing about where. 'E's got to be at the wharf."

Ser Hill shook his head as he looked back at the man. "Wrong answer," he said softly. And with a sudden burst of speed, the sabre was out of Ser Hill's hands, lodged in the pirate's chest. He was dead in moments, pinned against the wall.

Symon drew the sword out, letting the pirate's body sag down to the floor. "Gather the sappers, take a quick manifest of the hold. Then, sink the ship. Send Ser George here."

Both men clicked their heels in unison and said, "Aye captain."

Ser Hill remained in the room, looking over everything. He found what he assumed to be the hostages' affects. A rather lordly suit of armour was sat on the table, with red laced around the edge. It shone brightly in the moonlight. Looking over it made the man more curious as to whom he had invited onto his ship.

A longsword laid next to it, intricately detailed in the pommel. As though he were intoxicated by the beauty, Symon was close to unsheathing it when his first mate walked in. George's boots loudly stomping on the wood broke his fixture on the blade.

"Captain," he said, saluting.

Symon walked away from the table, and regarded the man. He was young, and only recently knighted back in King's Landing by Lord Maslan. Right before this voyage down south to search for raiders and pirates along the Dornish coast. But he had proved to be a valuable asset, and for the moment, would help to bring these belongings over to his ship. "Help me gather these things."

The first mate took one look at the items before a look of realisation came to his face. "These belong to the two we brought over?"

Nodding, the knight answered. "I believe so."

"Well, it's far too ornate to belong to the pirates. And if this lord were on his way to a tourney as I believe the older man said." He motioned at the plate on the table before continuing, "This seems like the armour I would bring with me."

George tried lifting it, finding it to be much lighter than he would have guessed. "What is this? Steel?"

"Is it not? It's light?"

His first mate nodded. "Almost unreal. Here, you take it." Symon walked over and let the man hand him the breastplate. His eyes went wide as he held it, and he once again mentally questioned who he had brought on-board his ship. "I mean, I've heard of Valyrian steel blades, but this... Could it be Valyrian steel as well?" He looked down at the rest of the armour, gauntlets and greaves. A white shimmer came off of them from the torch. "An entire suit of it?"

"Whatever it is, we take it on board. Quickly."

. . .

Symon removed the breastplate from himself, placing it on the rack in his quarters. The red and white coat of arms, mulled by the rain and weather, still sat proudly. "I'll bring our house honour, father," the knight said, placing his hand upon it. He had been born a bastard to Count Lymond of House Vikary in his father's county Fotheringhay in the Westerlands - born into a house already clouded with a questionable past. And not only was he a bastard-born, but he was the only surviving son of his father.

Nearly ten years ago, they'd rode to the capital to a tourney. His father had suggested he enter into the jousts. A smile came to the knight's face at the thought.

He'd entered the tourney, besting a handful of knights before being unseated by Loras Tyrell, the famed knight of House Tyrell. Even then, the man had been no joke in a tilt. Expecting nothing to come of it but perhaps a bit of respect from his father, Symon had instead been presented before Rhaegar and named the heir to House Vikary and given the honour of continuing the name. It remained the proudest moment of his life.

The memory left him as a knock came to the door, and Symon looked to see one of his men with the older of the two they had brought aboard in tow. His foot slammed down and he bowed his head.

"The passenger you requested to see, captain."

"That will be all."

The marine turned away, and Captain Vikary motioned for the man to enter. "Please, sit down. You've had quite the evening." Symon watched as the man walked across the room; how his eyes lingered on the armour on the rack. "Wine, my lord?"

"I am no lord, Captain Hill," the man said as he sat in the chair. "But I would gladly take wine with you."

He began pouring the Dornish vintage into two mugs, placing them on the table between them. The man's voice was striking. He had a western accent. Very much like a man from Lannisport. "Pardon me. A knight then, with his squire I imagine?"

The man shook his head. "Not exactly. The boy is son to Lady Kyra of House Allyrion. And I am simply his protector; Neville's my name. We seeked passage to the capital."

Symon made sure to watch the man's face. It remained stoic in appearance. He looked to be telling the truth, however foolish he was to think the pirates a safe vessel to travel on. The man opposite him continued to look at him, very closely. He must have noticed, for he quickly said, "You look familiar is all."

"You ever been to Fotheringhay?"

The man had hesitated for a second before answering. "I haven't. Why?"

"Thought maybe you'd met my father."

"Not that I recall. Oh, and I'd like to thank you for bringing our effects on board," the man continued, grabbing the mug and drinking.

"Your lord's armour is rather interesting."

There, a slight flicker of the man's eyes to his right. Something amiss.

"A familial heirloom. The sword as well."

"Very interesting," Captain Vikary said, before chuckling. "A man from the Westerlands protecting a young lord who could not possibly look less Dornish."

"The boy's a bastard. Same as you."

Symon was at a loss for a moment, losing his thoughts. The man was more intimately familiar with him then he had anticipated. "Is he now?" There was a knock at the door, and Captain Vikary beckoned them in.

"Excuse me, captain. The boy we brought on board is awake."

"Very good, medic," he said, standing up. "Come Neville; I am very intrigued to meet your charge."

* * *

**A/N**: I am so very sorry for the delay. Hope this chapter is still appetising.

One the one hand, I've taken some time to read almost every major GoT fic on this site. There are some seriously incredibly brilliant writers on here. Some of you have crafted some excellent AUs and stories. My story pales in comparison to the stuff on here. I've also gone and read a few books offhand. Mainly just to see some different writing styles.

One the other, I have a job, my first actually, and it's in a little local bookshop I go to all the time. Absolutely love it. One of the things I get is time to write while there (owner knows a lot of local publishers and wants to help me out). Whatever I want. I'm also gonna work on stuff for here too, and kinda get paid for it in a way.

The next few chapters are mostly planned out. A Lewyn chapter (you can take a guess at what happens), and then we're on to the capital!

_Vulkan_: Thank you! It really means a lot to read your very kind words. And I'm glad that my story feels together. Things are starting to branch, but I am hoping to keep everything still tied. And of course, I do introduce one more OC this chapter. But I am hoping to keep them consistent and logical. I did keep writing, and will! Promise you that.

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	26. Lewyn II

**Lewyn**

The sound of a sentry announcing the new day brought Leywn out of his slumber. Everything still felt dark though. And that was when he heard the first rumble of thunder far off. He looked around, and saw Aegon was still softly asleep. That was good - the boy needed to rest. They'd spent so much time running before. And after Rhaenys died, well, things were finally starting to look up. Standing, Lewyn stretched his arms and strapped his sword to his side. The familiar silver gleam of his longsabre brought only a bit of comfort - he'd been given the sword by Rhaegar on his marriage to Elia, his sister. "And he stabbed her in the back," Leywn softly whispered to the sleeping boy. "Betrayed by your own father for that..."

_Whore_. He couldn't say it out loud even as much as he had come to hate the woman. Lyanna Stark had wormed her way into Rhaegar's heart, and the realm had fallen to pieces over it. Even now, he'd heard tale of Doran's refusal to marry back into the Targaryen family. Rhaegar had let his own heart rule and it would be his undoing.

"Uncle?" Aegon's voice softly called out. He sounded so much like his father.

"I'm sorry, nephew," the man said, crouching down and rubbing his arm. "Go back to sleep. Day has only just risen." The boy nodded his head, closing his eyes. Lewyn waited until he heard little snores before leaving the tent. Another morning in the south of Essos, and the knight stretched his arms out - the leather on his arms taut from the motion. Though unlike every other morning, the sky was grey and filled with a cold chill today. A flash of light far off to the east and another bang of thunder followed.

It was unsettling to say the least. Quiet drops of rain came after. But that soon gave way to heavier drops. If Aegon wasn't awake inside before, he surely would be now. Lewyn could hear yelling coming from the command pavilion. Some orders to move the arms and armour inside out of the rain. Rain usually came with a warning - but this was not simple storm.

He was so caught up in the commotion, that he didn't see the rider approaching him. The air became markedly cooler, and Leywn turned to face the newcomer. But what he saw was beyond him. He was cloaked from head to toe in black, riding on a great big horse as dark and quiet as a shadow. Lewyn's hand went down to the sabre - the familiar grasp of the pommel gave him voice to speak.

"Who are you?" he demanded of the cloaked figure.

Only silence answered him. A silence he could not place. Not the silence of a lonely meadow or the Dornish desert in winter. No, this was different - this was the silence of a tomb. There was no more sound of rain, or thunder, or horses stamping. No more sounds of men yelling over the downpour. Only silence.

"I will ask only once more. Who are you?"

Still, the hooded figure sat on his horse, only watching. Leywn took a step forward and stopped as the man held a gauntleted hand up - a roll of parchment sat in it.

Now, the man climbed off the horse, as the sound of thunder continued to fill the sky. His feet fell silently on the ground, yet now Lewyn knew the man was armoured as he saw the glimmer of steel. He reached onto his horse and removed a chest. And silently, he stepped forward.

All Lewyn could do was stand his ground, hand still tensely wrapped around the pommel. The man stopped only a few feet before him, yet he could still not see his face. Only a shroud of black. He placed the chest and the key on the ground and stepped back quickly, mounting the black steed.

Lewyn looked down. The chest was ornate and black as obsidian.

"What is it?" he asked.

Only silence answered him. But now, the sound of rain had returned as well. And looking up, he found himself alone - the man and his horse had ridden off without a trace or sound. A mercenary bended around the shrubs, and Lewyn frantically asked him, "Did you see a rider leave past you?"

The man gave the Dornishman a shrewd look, before answering, "You alright, Sand? No-one's come through here, or Pax would've stopped them at the front." Lewyn looked down, making sure the chest was still there.

"Hey, boss will be pissed if you've a fever. Get out of the rain, sleep it off."

Lewyn nodded his head, crouching down and grabbing the handles of the chest. Not expecting it to be heavy, he strained himself, falling forward on top of it. "Impossible..." he whispered. The man had carried it without trouble, grabbing it with only one hand.

Rast's hand went onto one of the handles. "Here, let me help you." Lewyn quickly snatched the parchment from the wet ground next to it. Together, the two men brought it into the tent, and found Aegon awake, reading.

"Doing alright, Liam?" Rast asked, helping Lewyn place the chest in the corner. The boy nodded, his black hair falling on his face. "Well, like I said, get some rest, Sand." He patted Lewyn's shoulder and left the tent, the sound of rain filling and leaving as he closed the flap.

Finally, Aegon looked up from the book and noticed the chest in the room. He stood up, moving over. "What's that?" he asked, tilting his head at it.

"I don't know." He ran his hand against the latch. It was metal, but black as coal. Coldness bit into his fingers. "Aegon, someone out there gave this to me. Rast says Pax didn't see anyone come into camp, but whoever gave it to me vanished." Lewyn looked at his nephew, sensing the confusion in his eyes. Before he could speak, the Dornishman put his hand up. "I know - I speak madness."

"I believe you, uncle."

"You do?"

"Stranger things have happened. Should we open it?"

"It needs a key, but I have none." Lewyn grabbed the parchment. A seal was imprinted on it - but he could not read it. "Perhaps this will help."

Aegon seemed anxious, saying only, "Open it then."

Breaking the seal, the parchment began to unravel. A key came crashing down. Aegon grabbed it, but Lewyn was too distracted by the contents of the later to say anything. He swallowed hard at the ending.

"Well, what does it say?" Lewyn looked over it again. "Uncle?"

Lewyn cleared his throat, and started. "To Aegon of the House Targaryen, son of Rhaegar the Dragon and heir-claimant to the Iron Throne of Westeros, I give unto you your birthright. You are descended from the noble blood of Old Valyria. Take back what is yours by right."

Silence came over the two as he finished reading.

"Open the chest, Aegon."

The boy slowly forced the key into the latch - his hands trembling. A loud click sounded through the tent as the mechanism opened.

"A rock, uncle?"

Lewyn closed his eyes and fell into his chair.

"Feel it nephew." He could hear the boy's steady breath as he ran his hands along the edges. "What do you feel?"

"Nothing, it's just cold. Why would-" He stopped. Lewyn swallowed again. "Wait, there's something warm. I can feel something beating, very faintly. What is it uncle."

"Your birthright, Aegon. A dragon."

* * *

**A/N**: Bit of a shorter chapter, but we do need see what's happening here. Next chapter is another new POV, but one from the established lore of ASOIAF.

_IllyriaMaslan_: Always lovely to hear that. And be patient, we're almost there. _ALMOST_ there :p (And thanks, its a great job :))

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	27. Jojen

**Jojen**

Red cloaks and flags bellowed out. Armoured figures stood vigil on opposite sides as a woman wearing a dress of red walked around a fire, the shadows dancing on the ground behind her. Bones laid at her feet - small bones and large bones, skulls and spines. A great fire rose in front of her. And a crowd had gathered to watch as the fire grew ever larger. One of the onlookers walked up to her - a child laid in his arms. She nodded her head, and the boy watched as the father threw his own daughter into the fire. It grew even more, and the woman began to speak. Her voice carried across the plaza.

"Why must we sacrifice?" she asked, like a teacher to her students.

All around the boy, the people answered in their reverent tones. Their faces focused only on the rising pyre - he could see the shimmer of orange flames reflecting in their dark eyes.

"For the night is dark and full of terror, mistress."

As they finished speaking his head began to hurt. Only a bit at first but soon, another body was cast into the fire. The pain in his head only increased. And all of a sudden, he felt a world away.

Snow was falling from the dark sky. A lone figure marched across the desolate wasteland, flanked by thirteen others. Clad in tattered armour and sigils of old, they stood silently as the crowned figure walked to what looked like an altar. Bundled in his arms was a babe. He placed it upon the altar and began speaking in a tongue the boy did not understand. Reaching down, he placed his finger upon the babe and heard as it started to cry. The baby's eyes turned pale and blue, sparkling against the harsh ice of the altar.

And once again, he was being pulled away. Only this time, with each blink, it became harder to open them.

"No!" he screamed.

"Wake up, Jojen." The cool voice seemed familiar. And then he knew. His father's voice.

He heard more words coming from far away. Could feel himself losing the dream.

"No, please," he muttered out.

"Jojen! Jojen!"

It sounded like his sister now. Closer and closer the voice came. His eyes flew upon, and he found her on his bed shaking him.

"Oh Jojen, you were screaming so loudly."

She was dressed only in her small-clothes with a blanket wrapped around herself, and immediately, Jojen blushed. He stammered out, "I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry, Meera."

"It's okay Jojen, you're here. Safe and here." She was only trying to calm him down. But this dream was unlike anything he had ever felt.

"I need to see father." Jojen began moving, rising up from the bed. His sister climbed off.

"I'm sure it can-"

He put his hand up, stopping her.

"No, I saw something," he looked down as he said it. "Something terrible... Evil. Father must know."

Howland Reed. All Jojen knew is that he inherited his foresight into the future from his father. The Crannogman was growing old though. Each time he tapped into his ability, it drained him. And his two children could only sit by and watch it happen.

They found him in his study, quill already in his hand.

"Father," Jojen started. The man held his fist up, asking for silence. A few moments passed before he finally looked up at Jojen.

"I know, Jojen. I have seen it as well."

"What is it? These visions seem far more... Far more-"

"Real," his father finished for him. "There is pain. Much pain. I do not know who the woman in red is. A foreign witch from the looks of it. But it is the other vision that concerns me more."

"It was cold. North of the Wall?"

"Yes," Howland said, standing. "The Stark's words finally come true. Winter is coming, children. What Jojen saw was their king - the true king beyond the Wall. Far to the north, in the Land of Always Winter. The king of the Others. They are building their army. And they will march south to the Wall."

The Crannogman coughed heavily after finishing, phlegm falling onto his desk. Meera ran up to him to help him.

"You two," he quietly said. "You two must warn the realm. Crows will not be enough. Lord Eddard trusts me, and he will trust you."

"Father," Meera said, her voice soft and pleading was enough to question him.

"No." The sense of finality worked to quiet her. "I will be fine. You two must ride for King's Landing with all haste. Watch each other. Take care of each other. And you two will be fine."

Howland smiled as he finished. "My children have grown up. Your mother would be so proud of you two." Jojen could sense that he didn't expect to see them again, but he stayed quiet.

Meera could only ask, "How long before we must leave?"

"As soon as you can."

. . .

Horses had been prepared for them, the saddles packed with provisions to last them to the capital. Meera had spent a few moments with one of the older hunters, making sure her trident was the best. He assured her multiple times that if it came to it, she'd win without much of a challenge. And while that reassured Meera, it didn't give reassurance to Jojen. He was frightened to death of blood and fighting. And yet here he was, a dagger sheathed to his waist. About to travel on the Kingsroad down to the capital.

"Remember," Howland started, handing Meera the bound letter. "Present this if you are detained by soldiers, and they will let you pass."

He stepped back and looked at his two children again. That look of longing was on his face, and Jojen couldn't bear to look at him again. His sister said, "We will return father."

"Do not worry for me. Now go. And remember, that letter must reach Lord Stark - and only Lord Stark."

. . .

The two had been riding for nearly four hours, as the sun had risen to its apex in the sky. That was when they first heard horses - riders coming towards them from the south. Meera moved her horse over and Jojen followed.

"What is it, Meera?" Jojen asked, worried that something could go wrong so soon. He looked down to his knife, gaining little comfort from its being there.

His sister shook her head and held her finger up to her lips. "Stay quiet. Alright." They waited, their horses stamping in protest.

A group of riders came at them, armoured and armed. Horses and men alike. All but one of them - though he stayed in the back. The purple blazon and silver eagle flew behind them. The man in the front moved his horse forward, holding a gauntleted hand up.

"In the name of Lord-Paramount Mallister of the Riverlands, state your business in his lands," the man said, his voice muffled by the close helm around his head. His horse bayed its head. "Speak quickly."

"I bear a letter."

The knight cautiously held his hand out. "Being it here."

Meera moved her own horse forward, presenting the bound letter. The knight snatched it from her hand and spent a long while staring at the sigil and the two intruders. The unarmoured man in the back moved his own destrier forward and said, "I believe I can help, ser."

Handing the letter to the man, the knight waited patiently - his steel helm masking whatever scrutinising look he was giving Jojen and his sister.

"You see, ser. These two come from Winterfell. Most likely on a courier mission of some importance to Lady Stark, or her husband. Our new lord hand - if I must remind you." Even as he finished, his eyes told a different story. He knew they had not come from Winterfell. Yet he would risk that. "They are of no threat to Lord Jason, or his campaign."

"Very well, Lord Baelish." The knight held has hand up and moved it forward, commanding the rest of his men as he said, "Let them pass."

It was not until they were well out of ear-shot that Jojen asked his sister, "I thought the Riverlands were ruled by House Tully."

"Something's wrong, Jojen. They are supposed to be."

But as the children reached an outcropping overlooking the plains before the Twins, a different picture was being painted.

"Look. An army."

Legions of soldiers were stationed on the south side of the river. Even from here, the glimmer of steel was apparent. The purple liveries, similar to the knights they had just met, that adorned the Mallister militia. And more men were crossing over to the northern side through the Twins. Jojen could sense his sister's fear, but very quickly it was replaced with her normal steel-like resolve.

"Don't worry. We need to get this letter to Lord Stark, Jojen. We'll cross further to the south."

And so the two rode on, leaving behind an army in their wake.

* * *

**A/N**: House Mallister is making their move. And finally, we're about to enter the capital.

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


	28. Eddard V

**Eddard**

It had been some time since Eddard had last been to the capital. And by the Old Gods, a much smaller place it had been twenty years ago. Now, the city had expanded well beyond the red stone walls - expanded far to the north. They came across the outlaying hovels first and soon enough, the Kingsroad was surrounded on both sides by these crude structures. The peasants moving about made sure to move out of the way, casting sideways looks at the Stark banners flying alongside the many they had become familiar with. But there was something else here. Fear. They feared to come out and regard them in full, and soon enough Eddard learned why.

Once again, the company had come across a wall of soldiers, stopping them from moving south. What separated these men from many they had seen before was the style in which they garbed. Golden cloaks of silk covered the black maille underneath, and veils of black steel rings were masking the faces of the men. Eddard could well remember the last time he had been in the capital. These men were called the Gold Cloaks, the City Watch of King's Landing, loyal only to the king. Though, they hadn't been so ornately garbed the last time. And now they bore halberds - the bladed parts silver and shining in the sunlight.

Another group on horses came up from behind them - the one in lead was armoured in a manner befitting more of a lord. Upon his head sat a close helm - the steel black. A plumage of golden feathers erupted from the top. While it did shout bravado - Eddard had no doubt the knight were not quite the jester. He drew his close helm off, his black hair cropped short. Bowing his head and said, "Welcome back to the capital, your grace."

"Of course, Ser Stokeworth. I assume things have remained stable here."

"Yes, your grace. Nothing we couldn't handle."

"Excellent," Rhaegar stated with some excitement to his voice.

Scanning their eyes, the Gold Cloaks' commander continued to bow, "And my Lords Stark and Lannister. A pleasure to see the grey direwolf and golden lion flying side-by-side."

"The pleasure is mine, ser knight," Eddard said. "I hope to be of assistance here in these trying times."

"Men!" He commanded, sweeping his hand to both sides. "Now, if you will follow closely, we should arrive inside the city proper in short time." The Gold Cloaks on foot began marching forward, halberds out. A group in front bore tall shields and short stabbing swords.

The king, flanked by his Kingsguard followed, and Eddard grabbed Bran's shoulder and helped him to move as well. The boy's eyes were going everywhere, taking everything in at once. "Father, this is... We don't have cities like this in the North."

Eddard shook his head and laughed. "No, Bran. And I think we'll be seeing more of this the longer we're here in the south." In stark contrast to the more simple of hovels they'd found outside, here past the guard post the true city began. Streets and roads went off in every direction and far off in the distance, Eddard could spy the tall towers of Maegor's Holdfast.

"King's Landing has expanded well beyond the walls, Lord Tywin."

"Started not soon after his majesty passed the act allowing more foreigners to settle. Now, we've overpopulation problems." The Lannister looked to the side of the road, turning his head at the stench of refuse. "And infrastructural to make things worse."

Eddard looked as well and saw the grovelers and homeless laying in it. They held hands out asking for money and food. A group of girls were quickly being sheperded into one of the larger structures.

Passing by a market square, they saw a man stealing from a vendor. Two of the Gold Cloaks went off in pursuit, leaving a gap in the shield wall. Quickly, two of the king's men-at-arms went to fill it. While Eddard was distracted by the commotion, he felt tugging on his arm. "What is it, Bran?"

"They're watching us."

"Who?" Eddard asked his son, turning to where he was pointing. Following his finger, the Stark lord saw two men quickly turn away down an alley. They had red hoods and looked to be wearing leather. Mallets at their waists.

"It's nothing Bran. Looks like some workers." Even as Eddard finished, he knew Bran wasn't stupid enough to believe it. But his son nodded, and the party continued on.

A rider, garbed in the golden cloak but forgoing the armour stopped before Ser Stokeworth. "My lord," he started, breathing heavily. His horse kicked up as the young man tried his best to bring it to heel. "A group has blocked the road up ahead."

"Who?"

He had a panic in his voice. "Reds."

"You're sure?" Ser Stokeworth demanded, brandishing his longsword. The accompanying knights unsheathed their swords as well.

"Yes, ser."

The knight nodded and brought the visor down on his helm. The other Gold Cloak knights in his group did the same.

With his voice now distorted he spoke to one of the younger knights, "Jerome. You have protection of the royal party. Get them inside the Old Walls and to the keep." He kicked his horse up, and yelled before them to the citizens on the street. "In the name of his majesty, King Rhaegar Targaryen, clear the way!" Men and women started yelling, moving over to the sides. Ser Stokeworth and his knights charged down and around a bend. A detachment of Gold Cloaks followed after them, tower shields up.

"Your majesty," the younger knight Jerome said, bowing his head. "If you'll follow me please." He began leading the group down a separate road, just as wide.

"Reds?" Eddard asked to the group.

For a long moment, none of the men said much of anything. Rhaegar broke the silence. "They're no-one. Troublemakers from Essos." He kicked into his horse and rode forward with his Kingsguard.

Tywin said in a more quiet tone. "Followers of R'hllor. Came over with the foreigners."

"R'hllor?" Eddard asked, butchering the word. He'd never heard of them.

"Yes. Our _One True God_ if they are to be believed. Directly in competition with the Faith of the Seven. So much in fact that the inquisitor's office has been re-opened." Tywin grimaced. "We've not run into them too much north of here. But the farther south you go, the more impossible it will be to ignore. Although, we haven't had many riots like this. I imagine the king's arrival has something to do with this."

Eddard looked at his son, listening to Tywin's every word. "Well, just more for us to deal with then. Though you seem to have Bran's attention."

A real smile found its way onto Tywin's face at that - if even only for a moment. A rider came from another alleyway, an arrow lodged in his tunic. Blood was falling from the wound. Jerome broke from the front of the column to meet the rider. A few moments of panicked talking and the young knight turned. Lord Stark knew what he was going to ask before he could even ask. "Me and my men will help."

He gave a reassuring look to Bran, and said, "Stay with Lord Tywin." Eddard gave the Lannister a quick look and the man nodded.

Rhaegar rode his horse over and grabbed his shoulder. "I need you alive, Ned."

"I'll be fine, Rhaegar. I'm sure me and my men will be more than enough."

The king refused to let the Northern lord off that easy. "No. Send your men, but you will stay here. Jaime and Arys are more than capable of putting this down." The two knights of the Kingsguard rode their horses over.

"As you command, your grace," Eddard said coldly, moving back over to where Lord Tywin and son were. He should be riding with Jory and his other men. They were his men - not the king's to be commanded.

. . .

Ser Jerome continued to lead the king's procession down a complementary road to the Kingsroad. They arrived at the Old Gate without much threat. A Targaryen sentry called them out, allowing the Gold Cloaks manning the gate to begin opening it. The heavy oaken doors slowly came open. King Rhaegar followed the knight through. Eddard waited until the queen's carriage was through the gate before riding in with his men.

The streets within the walls were crowded and every so often, Ser Jerome was forced to disperse the crowd, demanding they move out of the way of the party. And so they did, as a company of unmounted Gold Cloaks moved alongside as well. The people of King's Landing looked at the company of horse riders moving through the streets with awe. The Stark sigil was not one they saw often, even if it was the banner of their queen. Men and women stopped their daily going-ons just to catch a glimpse of the silver direwolf flying through the streets.

. . .

Reaching the Red Keep, Lord Stark had to stop his horse and take it in. It remained the grandest structure he had ever laid his eyes on - and he never imagined he'd be coming south to lead from it. Dozens of Gold Cloaks were lining the road outside, with Targaryen soldiers defending the main gate. At the sight of Ser Jerome, they raised their spears and moved to the side, the large hardened-oak gates opening up.

From here, the mounted Gold Cloaks that had escorted them in departed, and Ser Jerome led them into the keep's main yard, Maegor's Holdfast. Eddard looked up at the ramparts, where more soldiers clad in black armour manned the walls, bows out - at the far end of the field, two men were sparring with steel swords, surrounded by soldiers. A voice brought Eddard's eyes back to the keep itself.

"Welcome back to the capitol, brother," a courtier announced, walking down the steps of the Great Hall. He was well dressed in gilded black lace, with red details all throughout. A red cloak was clasped to his shoulders. His silver hair shone in the sunlight, as powerful as his armour. Two Targaryen soldiers flanked him, bearing the red, three-headed dragon on their tower shields.

Rhaegar gave the man a curt nod as he dismounted his horse and said, "It feels good to be back, Viserys. Far too cold in the North for me."

The king's brother gave a grin and turned to the Northern lord, "I'm sure Lord Stark finds the temperature here much too hot."

The king was looking around however, and asked Viserys, "Is Dany not here?"

"Our sister is not too happy with her arranged marriage. She's still at Dragonstone." Rhaegar had balled his fist. He swiped his hand out.

"She will be here for the tourney - and that is an order," the king stated matter-of-factly.

"Of course, of course. She'll come round in no time. Now tell me brother," he continued, "I heard there was some trouble in the northern village. Has it been-"

The sound of more heavy horse hooves filled the yard, drowning out Viserys. Ser Stokeworth rode in alongside his knights. Eddard also spotted his own men, Jory Cassel in command.

"It would appear so," the silver-haired courtier finished.

Rhaegar had a happy look though, saying, "My Gold Cloaks will not let these ruffians get away with their pathetic law-breaking." Eddard looked over at the Gold Cloak knights. Ser Stokeworth had removed his helm, his armour coated in blood and what Eddard hoped to be mud. His other men told a similar story. One knight even limping badly.

"Laws, that reminds me, a council meeting is in session. It might be best to have Lord Stark presented now. To confirm him as Hand immediately."

The king nodded, "I see no reason why not. Arthur, escort them to the council chambers." The king left Lords Stark and Lannisters without any thought given, following his brother towards a separate part of the castle. Tywin gave Eddard a knowing look and followed Lord-Commander Dayne.

Eddard turned to Bran. "Find Jory and find out where your sisters are. I'll be back later."

. . .

They heard the councillors long before they saw them. Men yelling in the large chamber. Lord-Commander Dayne led them to the room. Two Targaryen men-at-arms stood guard and opened the door as they arrived.

Another courier was entering the room, a raven in his hands. "More news," Tywin said, grimacing. He allowed Eddard to step through the doorway first, sliding in behind and seating himself on the right side of the room. Sighing, Eddard could feel a moment of tightening in his chest.

A herald announced his entry. "Silence for his Lord Hand, Eddard of House Stark of Winterfell, Lord-Paramount of the North."

The table was large - seating at the very least twelve men. Two of the other chairs were vacant. On the left side were faces he had never seen nor heard of - on the right, well, there were at least a few familiar faces.

With his orange hair combed back, one of them stood up and bowed. Eddard recognised the man. "Lord Jon, I missed you at the feast at Winterfell."

"Duty called me back early, my lord."

"I am certain of one thing, you look far older," Eddard said, trying to break the formality. And it worked, the Lord of Griffin's Roost gave a small grin.

"As do you, Eddard. As do you," he started. "Now please, take your seat, and we'll fill you in as we go."

Eddard took the chair, sitting at the head of the long table. Immediately, one of the lord's on the left side began his tirade once more. "We cannot allow one of his majesty's own subjects to openly refuse the collection of taxes. That will lead to nothing more than-"

"The crown levies too much from Dorne as is. We cannot expect to extort them as well," Tywin interjected, cutting into the foreign councillor's statement.

The man only laughed. "And what of Dornish outriders raiding along Lord Tyrell's border? Is that also due to the crown's _extortion_?" He gave Lord Stark a long stare. The Northern lord was close to speaking when another man entered the room. His boots fell heavy on the tile, and it took one look for Eddard to know who it was.

"My apologies, my lord hand. I had to see to Ser Stokeworth," the armoured man said, bowing.

"That's quite alright, Lord Maslan. I myself am well aware of the religious turmoil in the capital." A few of the men in the room scoffed, and Eddard feared another argument was going to break. A small voice from the end of the right side rose above it.

"Perhaps we should adjourn today's meeting early," the robed man said. His chain's signified his status as maester - and it became clear that the man was the Grand Maester. "Lord Stark has had much excitement, and I believe the realm can sleep one more night."

"I second the motion," another voice called out, however, Eddard did not recognise it, and before he could see, many of the other man began standing, bowing before him and leaving. He waited until only he and a few other stragglers remained.

The man across from his still sat, leaning back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips. With the cowl upon his head, Eddard could not see his eyes. He held up his hands, the steel gauntlets shimmering. "Welcome to the capital, Lord Stark."

"And to whom do I have the pleasure?" he asked.

"Cato," the man said, as though weighing the word on his lips. "Yes, Cato. Come, help me walk Maester Wendell back to his chambers."

The three men departed the chambers in silence, walking along one of the exterior walls. The only sounds were the waves crashing upon the stones below them, and Maester Wendell's chains. They went to the maester's chambers, leaving Maester Wendell to rest, before continuing on in silence. Finally, the cowled man spoke.

"I can assure you Lord Stark, you will not find your time in the capital relaxing," Cato stated, facing the harbour.

"Why is that, Lord Cato?"

"Oh, I am no lord, my lord. Simply a man."

Even without seeing it, Eddard knew that smile was on his lips. He stopped, putting his arms over the edge. That silence had come back.

"I can tell you, my lord, that Dorne sits upon the edge. They will declare themselves independent in your time here."

"Why?"

"Who are you, my lord?"

"Is this is a riddle?" Eddard asked, all of a sudden very tired of being here.

"No riddle, my lord. Who are you?"

"Eddard Stark."

The man turned around, smiling.

"Yes, Eddard _Stark_. Brother to Lyanna _Stark_. The woman who stole Rhaegar's heart away from Elia Martell. Your being here is a slight even more so than you know. And lords from the Wall to the Arbour will react as they always do. Lord Velaryon was a safe Hand - you are not."

Eddard swallowed hard. He had never once considered on his journey to the south that his being here could put the stability of the realm in jeopardy. The king loved his sister, and left his wife - his children - to die in the capital. Robert had raped and murdered her. Of course the Martells would be angry at that. Angry at Rhaegar for what he had done. The air suddenly felt much cooler.

"As I said, my lord, your time here will not be one of ease. The king puts his hands out and refuses to look past them. I envy you not your position. Good night, my lord," Cato said solemnly.

The man bowed and left the Northern lord looking out over the port at the ships coming and leaving. Rhaegar was blind, that much Eddard knew. The king loved his sister, and thought all the realm his children. And now, the truth wills out.

* * *

**A/N**: I'm happy with this, for now. I can always come back and add more. But for all intents-and-purposes, now's when quite a few POVs are going to start to converge on the capital.

As always, leave a review, or comment, they mean a lot. But most importantly, enjoy the story. :)

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, etc from the universe of George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series or HBO's Game of Thrones. I write this for myself and the enjoyment of others._


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